


The Night of the Distant Drummer

by WanderingTinker



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 41,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27350377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTinker/pseuds/WanderingTinker
Summary: James West and Artemus Gordon first met during the Civil War. During their many engagements in both battle and subterfuge, they made many friends and some enemies. One of those enemies, a Col. Hawken Trulane, carried his desire for vengeance with him after the war. After Grant had entreated Jim and Artie to join the Secret Service, the ghosts of the war came back to haunt them. They would need all of their skill and the help from some friends, both old and new, to hope to defeat this evil adversary.Note: I am the original author of a version of this story posted on wildwildwest.org. This is a major rewrite.
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

In 1864, the Battle of the Wilderness and subsequent Battle of Spotsylvania Court House witnessed some of the most intense, brutal fighting of the Civil War. The many skirmishes, assaults and counter-assaults that aggregated into history were both as remarkable in their failures as their successes. Errors were made, some in judgement and communication, some more onerous errors were made in intent.

The weight of errors of intent were the burden of men who were liars or cowards or both. These men, by their very nature, were not reflective upon these egregious mistakes and the lives they cost.

The other class of errors were errors of judgement. These were made by a different class of men. Men who cared deeply about their troops and the outcome of the battle and the war.

It is an indication of the unfairness of it all, that those who care the least, suffer the least, and that those who care the most, bear the heaviest burden.

In May of 1864, the actions of both battle and subterfuge, the errors of judgement and intent and the vacillations between victory and defeat were all in play. In Spotsylvania, once the final tallies were added up, the losses to both sides were staggering. Nearly thirty-thousand men drew their last breath in this battle.

Captain James West and Captain Artemus Gordon both overtly in battle and covertly on special missions did much to stem that flow of blood. Whether they saved many or only a few will never be known. However, the actions they took most certainly saved some.


	2. The Distant Drummer

As a Captain serving with Lt. General Grant, in Hancock’s II Corps, Artemus Gordon had a dual role. He was both a Captain of his company, leading his men into battle, but also on many occasions, he took on an additional role. He was tasked with making repeated and dangerous crossings into enemy camps. Whether gathering intelligence on troop positions, or planting misleading information, he used his unique prowess at disguising his identity to infiltrate and complete these missions. Although this approach put him at equal risk of being shot by both Union and Confederate troops.

The night of May 8th started with a quick trip to the Landrum House, where Artie met Maj. General Winfield Scott Hancock. While Artie put the finishing touches on his Confederate Colonel disguise, Hancock filled him in on the mission. They had worked together many times before, and they had agreed that Hancock would never give Artie too much information. The possibility of his capture was ever-present, so the less he knew the better. Hancock handed him a crinkled photograph of a young Confederate drummer. Artie committed the young man’s features to his memory, then returned the photo to Hancock.

“Captain Gordon, this young man’s name is Joshua Cassidy. He is sympathetic to our cause and marching under duress. More importantly, he is in a position to collect some documents that he believes show Lee’s plans to reinforce his defenses at the salient the men are calling the Mule Shoe. One of our operatives was able to meet with him last night, and validate that this seems legitimate. Grant and a Colonel Emory Upton are developing an assault plan for this area, as we speak, and this information will be invaluable. Your mission is to rendezvous with Cassidy at the mess tent in the Rebel encampment. He’ll find a way to pass the papers to you. In case anything happens to him, he has stated that the papers are hidden in the bindings of his drum. You in turn will give him this package.” Hancock pointed at a bundle on the table. “It contains a Union uniform and papers. Cassidy will arrange his own escape and join our troops once he is able. Do you have any questions?”

Artie took one last look at himself in the mirror, adjusted his mustache and pulled on his Confederate Infantry Officer’s kepi. He turned from the mirror.

“No, General Hancock, I think I’ve got the gist of it. Sneak into a heavily armed enemy camp in the midst of a battle, go to the most populated place in said camp, find one solider out of a hundred, get him to follow me without causing suspicions, swap the parcel for the documents and get back to our HQ within the next two or three hours.”

Hancock looked stern, but then started chuckling. “Yes, Gordon, I guess that sums it up. Oh, by the way, do try to avoid being killed. If this is successful, I’ll probably need you for something else in a couple of nights.”

Gordon smirked, straightened up, saluted, and as if by some magic spell, transformed not only in appearance, but also in his posture and demeanor. Looking every bit the Confederate Colonel, he slipped out the back door into the night.

He spent a half an hour circling around to find a location where he was able to blend in with a band of soldiers entering camp. He joined the group and started a dramatic tale of how he was separated from his men and had to fight his way, single-handed, through the forest to rejoin his division. He was a good storyteller and his newfound friends soaked up the tale. Once in camp, they headed for the mess tent, which was little more than a tarp near a fire, with a large pot simmering over it. Artie stopped just inside the tarp and pulled out a pipe and tobacco pouch. With a thick Southern accent, he offered some to one of his new companions. Slowly filling his pipe, he scanned the faces of those eating and serving the evening meal. As he lit the pipe, he caught a glimpse of the one he sought. He caught the boy’s eye and gave a barely perceptible nod to him. The boy responded with a wink, then turned to his dinner companions.

“Listen, I’ll catch up with you fellas later. I think I just seen an old friend of my family from Atlanta…”

The dinner companions just grunted and continued to shovel food into their mouths.

Artie followed Joshua out of the mess tent and past the sentry. Once they were in a sparsely populated area, Joshua turned them between two rows of empty tents, down a slight embankment and through some bushes.

“Okay mister, you best have your part of the deal in that bundle.” Joshua was obviously nervous and kept glancing up toward the tents.

“Look son,” Artie said in a smooth, calm voice, “I’ve just waltzed into this pit of rattlesnakes to make sure you get what you want and that I get what I want. I can assure you; this is not my idea of a casual constitutional. Now, I need you to take a deep breath. Then I’m going to tell you exactly what we need to do so as we both get out of here.” Artie locked eyes with Joshua. Though he could see the young man struggle with an internal debate, he also noted that Joshua did not look away. Then Joshua set his jaw and nodded his agreement to proceed.

Artie nodded back, confident that Joshua was committed to the task.

“I’m gonna leave this parcel right here. When you are ready, switch uniforms and go through the clearing just north of here and look for the plank bridge crossing the stream. There is a scouting party familiar with this mission stationed just across it. You just tell ‘em your Aunt Maude sent you, and they’ll help you.” Artie looked around to make sure they were alone. In the distance sporadic gunfire could be heard, but so far, the camp was still quiet.

“Now son, I need you to keep your part of the deal.”

Joshua stood up. “You’ve done what I asked. I’ll get the papers for you.”

Artie waited silently. After ten minutes he was about to go after the boy, fearing something had gone wrong. But just then, Joshua scrambled down the embankment with his drum. He set the instrument down and pried apart the flaps on one of the drum ears. He carefully removed some tissue-thin pieces of paper.

“I traced on here from the map after the General’s strategy meeting this mornin’,” he looked up at Artie expectantly, “do you think I did alright?”

Artie’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Yes, son, I think you did just fine. You’ve earned that parcel to be sure.” Artie gave the young man’s shoulder a squeeze. “You be careful gettin’ out of camp and thank you. You’ve just saved quite a few lives with this effort.”

Joshua nodded and whispered a quick “thank you,” then darted up the bank and was gone.

Artie glanced around, gently folded the battle map tracing into his handkerchief and then tucked it into his shirt pocket. Instead of going back up the embankment, he went straight into the thick brush and disappeared.

About twenty minutes later, scratched and sweating, he pulled off the facial disguise, the Confederate jacket and removed the kepi. He approached the Union checkpoint and was almost roughed up by two sentries until he spit out the password. He then made his way to Generals Hancock and Grant. After giving them his report and the delicate, but vital document, he was excused and stumbled off to find his bed. Grant and Hancock stared at the map overlay after Artie left.

“We’ve only got the slightest chance with Emory’s attack plan. It is likely that we’re gonna get the stuffing kicked out of us today,” Hancock said grimly.

“Yes,” said Grant, “but now we know enough to let young Emory Upton act upon his plan. He’s got a chance now. By the way, even though Gordon will need to lead his men into battle tomorrow, if he survives, we’ll likely need him again within a day or two.”

“Sir, he’s exhausted, but I know he’ll do whatever we ask,” responded Hancock.

“You’re right on both counts, but this time we’ll give him some help,” said Grant with a grimace.


	3. Waking Artie

After only a few hours of sleep, Artie awoke to receive his orders to cross the Po river and reposition to form a line along a heavily forested hilltop. The skirmishes over next two days were a constant struggle to position and rejoin the rest of the army, but to do so without disadvantageous crossing and counter-crossing of the Po. Finally, his company was able to connect with Warren and Wright in the last assault. It was a gallant effort, with his men able to get up and over the works of the enemy, but they were not able to hold them. In the brutal fighting that followed, Artie lost sixteen men. Other companies took much heavier casualties, but no full company was lost despite the intense, close-quarter fighting. He didn’t know how many were wounded but would find out in the coming hours as adrenalin ran out and they checked in with the medics. Though his sixteen dead were the lightest casualties of any company in that engagement, Artie still took every death under his command personally.

As the orders to pull back arrived, Artie and his exhausted men moved through the smoky haze of the field of battle, back toward the rear lines and into a mess tent. Artie collapsed into a chair. He had never lost so many men and in such a short period of time, nor in such barbarous hand-to-hand fighting. The losses weighed heavily on him and he dreaded the letters he would now have to write. He sat in silence as one of his men brought him a plate of food. He ate so quickly; he didn’t know what he had just eaten. He parted ways with the enlisted men and headed to the officer’s section of the camp. He found his tent and crawled into bed. As he drifted to sleep, the sound of shovels hitting the earth echoed through the camp, as the volunteers buried the dead.

A scant three hours later, Lieutenant William “Willie” Miller, aide-de-camp for Gen. Hancock, was shaking Artie, to try to wake him. “Please Capt. Gordon. You MUST wake up,” Miller said urgently.

Miller had been at it for five minutes without any effect, and was weighing what to try next, when Captain James West entered the tent.

Dressed in standard Cavalry garb, he cut a dashing figure in the entrance. He paused there for a moment, taking in the scene before him. Then, with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his steely blue-gray eyes, he joined Willie inside.

“That’s alright Willie, I know just what to do to get this slumbering log out of his bed,” West winked at the relieved Miller.

“I’ll let the Generals know you are both on your way,” said Miller who smiled appreciatively and left the tent quickly.

Once Miller had gone, James West looked down on the still soundly sleeping Artemus Gordon. West had worked only a few times with him, but they had become fast friends, almost instantly. Though their methods couldn’t be more different, their chemistry was remarkably successful. And their loyalty to their Union commanders and the cause were equally vehement. West recognized the value of having someone else, especially someone with Artie’s talents on missions. West drew only the most dangerous intelligence assignments - he needed someone he could trust. And Artemus Gordon had proven himself to be that man. It didn’t take Jim long to realize he wouldn’t consider anyone else.

However, he also knew that this man had just lived through hell. Jim had to drag him right back into a difficult assignment. One that almost guaranteed one or both of them would take a beating. He wished it could wait, but the assignment came directly from Lt. General Grant - who had insisted on only Jim and Artie. With that order in mind, he reached into his haversack and pulled out a small bottle of some exceptionally fine cognac. Moving the bottle close to Artie’s ear, he pulled the cork with a loud pop.

“What…wh…what’s-at?” babbled Artie, still half-asleep, but lifting his head slightly.

“Only the finest bottle of spirits likely to grace this sorry tent,” replied a smug-looking James West.

Artie shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. He struggled to focus his vision. “Why James, how thoughtful of you. Now, if you’ll pour me a generous glass and then let me get back to sleep…” He tried to look put upon, but instead appeared slightly comical.

Under any other circumstances, Jim would have laughed and then done just that, but his orders weren’t going to allow that luxury. Instead, the frown that tugged down the edges of his half-smile caught Artie’s attention. Artie propped himself up with his elbow.

“Well, then, James my boy, what strings are attached to this lovely bottle?”

“Why Mr. Gordon, how could you think such a thing of me?” asked Jim, placing his hand on his chest and feigning surprise.

“Hmmm…my astute powers of deductive reasoning have duly noted that a Lt. Miller has been attempting to ruin a perfectly wonderful nap, that Jim West has appeared without any gorgeous ladies draped on his arms, and that I am, as we speak, being bribed with a very fine cognac,” surmised Artie, swinging his feet around and sitting up on his cot.

“All completely true Artemus,” said Jim with a knowing look. He grabbed a tin cup off the field table and provided a liberal pour of the bottle to Artie. “We have a meeting with General Grant to discuss some errands he needs run.”

Artie savored the drink, even if the vessel holding it was a far cry from his usual crystal. “Jim, this is marvelous. Must be Remy Martin, yes? And if I’m not mistaken, 1738 Accord Royal?”

“Artemus, your tastebuds, acutely tuned as they are to fine spirits, are correct.”

Closing his eyes and taking another long sip, Artie said, “and when are we to meet with the good General?”

“Oh, we were supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago,” stated Jim nonchalantly.

Artie sputtered his drink and looked up, wide-eyed at Jim. “We’re fifteen minutes late?”

“Actually no,” said Jim, smugly. “I already reported in. Only you are late.”

“Blast it Jim, you’re going to be the death of me! I best get moving then.” Artie sprung up from the cot, but immediately his left leg buckled.

“Whoa, there, buddy,” said Jim, jumping up to steady him. Artie fingered a cut in the fabric just above his knee, then ripped the pant leg so he could see the wound. It was a nasty looking gash.

“Must have been so exhausted, that I didn’t even notice it. That caps off a few perfectly miserable past few days.”

Jim stepped outside of the tent and catching Miller’s attention, waved him over.

“Willie, I need you to have a doctor meet us in General Grant’s tent. Artie was wounded yesterday and didn’t even realize it until just now.”

Miller nodded grimly and rushed off to the medical tent.


	4. Grant's Mission

Jim helped Artie over to Grant’s command tent, then deposited him in an empty chair. Grant, leaning in close to a battle map was in the middle of issuing orders. His slightly rumpled appearance did not diminish his commanding presence. Without moving his attention from the map, he absently waved his cigar behind him.

“I’ll be with you boys in a minute,” he said over his shoulder.

Miller and the doctor arrived, and Jim motioned them over to Artemus. The doctor frowned at the state of the wound. “This would have been easier to deal with six hours ago,” he said bluntly as he proceeded to clean out and stitch up the wound.

Artie said nothing but grimaced several times during the procedure.

“That’s as much as I can do here. You should stay off it for at least two days and keep it clean,” the doctor declared, even as he was halfway out of the tent on his way to treat the many more serious wounds in the church that was serving as a field hospital.

This parting comment caught Grant’s attention. “Gordon, what have you gone and done to yourself? I need you for a mission.”

Artie stood up at attention, not wanting to disappoint his commanding officer.

“It seems an obliging Johnnie used my leg as a scabbard,” said Artie, then he quickly added, “however, I am certainly fit enough for whatever service you require, sir.”

Grant looked him square in the eye, assessing whether to believe him or not. He then resumed chewing on his cigar. “Well, I’m not particularly inclined to believe that most obvious show of false bravado, however circumstances leave us no alternatives.”

Grant crossed over to stand between Jim and Artemus, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “This job demands both of you and each of your unique talents for any hope of success.” Grant steered both men over to the battle map on the table.

“Two nights ago, Captain Gordon was kind enough to gather the overlay you see before you. This helped us greatly in planning Col. Upton’s attack, but we couldn’t coordinate enough back-up to take full advantage. Now, we need to get Lee to think I am ordering a retreat. He will be loath to let us leave so easily. He will likely move his artillery, and that may provide the opening we need to make our second assault.”

Grant pointed to the Confederate artillery locations on the map and continued, “Lee needs to be absolutely convinced that I am actively withdrawing a large portion of my troops.”

Artie grimly nodded. “Yes, so far he hasn’t changed tactics. We need to get him to think he can crush our retreat. If we cannot get that artillery moved, it will be another slaughter.”

Jim locked eyes with Artie. “If we were captured and interrogated, and if we had some tangible evidence that the General had ordered the retreat on our person…”

Artie finished Jim’s sentence, “…then Lee would have the confirmation of the rumors and would immediately start repositioning his artillery.”

Grant frowned, looking at Artie’s leg, “Yes, you both reached the same conclusion I did. If we hand it to him too easily, he will not accept it. If it is coerced from you two, he may just believe it to be true.”

There was no sugarcoating it. They would likely be roughed up and could be killed. But the losses at Spotsylvania were mounting to almost unbelievable numbers. Artie thought of the sixteen men he had just lost. Jim had his own ghosts from his recent skirmishes. This was a real chance to stem the bloodshed. Artie knew he was compromised for a mission such as this, but he was not about to miss the chance to save lives.

“Listen, I know how crucial this is. I have been in Rebel territory and know my way around better than Jim. If I thought I would be a liability, I’d back out. I won’t let you down, sir.”

Grant met Artie’s gaze and held it. You would swear the man could see straight through you when he did that, but Artie didn’t flinch. Grant knew that these two men would sacrifice whatever was necessary to get the job done. They were the best he had.

“Very well, gentlemen,” said Grant, turning now to look at Jim, “if there are no objections to this assignment, then I suggest you both get ready.”

Jim also met Grant’s fierce gaze. If he had any doubt that Artie could hold up his end of the assignment, Grant was giving Jim the opportunity to scratch Gordon from the mission.

“No objections, sir. Captain Gordon and I will get ready and leave within the hour,” said Jim resolutely.

Jim gave instructions to Miller as the three of them briskly walked back to Artie’s tent.

“Willie, we need to get outfitted as couriers. Clothing, belongings, horses…we need everything to look the part.”

“Oh, and my pants, whatever ones you dig up for me will need a knife stuck in them that matches where my leg is injured, with some blood stains to boot,” Artie interjected.

Jim nodded, then resumed. “Lastly, we’ll need those US belt buckles with the secret compartment for both Artie and me.”

Artie added, “I’ll get working on the fake retreat orders right away, so bring all of that to my tent.”

“Yes sirs, Capt. Gordon, Capt. West. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” said Miller, running off to gather the requested items.

By the time Miller returned with the clothes, accessories and horses, Artie had finished the fake orders. He sent Miller to get Grant to add some margin notes and signatures to make the documents look completely legitimate. The orders were to be sent to Ricketts and Griffin off to the west, and this would take Jim and Artie dangerously close to the full length of the rebel lines, enhancing their chances to get caught.

Miller returned about ten minutes later with the maps and orders. Jim and Artie, having changed clothes, carefully folded, and tucked these documents into the secret compartments in their belt buckles. Stepping outside the tent, they took the reins to their respective horses from Miller, who gave a crisp salute.

“God speed, gentlemen, and good luck.”


	5. Baiting Trulane

Later that night, a storm poured a torrential deluge over the field of battle, as some soaked, but alert Confederate soldiers from the front lines, marched two Union couriers they had just captured, into camp. They were taken to Colonel Hawken Trulane, the man tasked with the interrogation of prisoners. Trulane was a bitter and brutal man. His methods were barbarous, but his reputation for getting results had advanced him through the ranks. If they could get any useful intelligence from these captured couriers, he would score significant honor with his commanding officer, General John C.C. Sanders and maybe even General Lee himself.

“Get these yellow-bellied, Yankee, weasels over here,” barked Trulane.

While, only in his early forties, Trulane’s hair and beard were already peppered with gray. However, his still dark, brown, bushy eyebrows gave him a menacing look.

The guards pushed Jim and Artie further into the tent. Artie stumbled slightly, and Trulane noted the torn pants and stitched up leg.

“Well, now, I have a mind to just outright kill you both and be done with it, but it seems you might have some information that would help our cause. And I am very devoted to our cause. I’ll use whatever methods necessary to extract that information,” he said in a deep drawl.

Artie kept his face still and responded. “We’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“That’s where my special talents come into play,” said Trulane. He then instructed his men to separate Jim and Artie into two tents.

After two hours or so with Trulane and his minions, Artie was now tied to a chair and wishing this mission were over. He knew he had to hold out long enough to convince Trulane. If it were too easy, Trulane wouldn’t believe their story or the papers they carried and this whole thing would have been for naught. But his right eye was swollen shut and his leg wound was re-opened, and both were telling him to finish this faster. Taking a deep breath, Artie silenced that inner voice. There were too many lives at stake. Memories of yesterday’s battle and the letters he still had to write steeled his resolve.

Trulane turned his attention to Artie’s leg. The stitches had already been ripped out and the wound was bleeding. Trulane took a tin of salt from the table and grabbed a handful.

“Now, one more time, what is the message you were carrying? Where is Grant deploying his men?”

“Go to hell,” spat Artie.

Trulane released his grip and the salt fell from his hand, like sand out of an hourglass.

Artie watched it as if in slow motion. He tried to keep from crying out in pain, but when Trulane rubbed the salt deep into the wound he couldn’t stop himself. He arched his back against his restraints, his breathing stuttered through clinched teeth. His hatred of Trulane showed in his scowling eyes as he looked straight at his tormentor.

Jim West was not faring much better, with a bloody lip and aching kidney, although he had not just come off the front lines with an injury. When he heard Artie cry out, he knew that Trulane was taking advantage of that injury. He, like Artie, knew that they had to let this play out long enough to completely convince Trulane. For the ruse to work, he had to wait.

Trulane straightened to get away from Artie’s fierce glare. He knew the man he was interrogating was not going to be an easy nut to crack. Maybe the younger one would prove more malleable, particularly if he thought it would save his friend. Trulane’s orders were clear. He needed the information and he needed it soon.

“Very well. You leave me no choice.” Trulane called in one of his Corporals. “Bring this man and the other prisoner outside. Also, get me a good length of rope and my horse. I feel like riding.”

Artie was led outside, half supported by his guards. They tied his hands in front of him, coiled the rest of the rope and handed it to Trulane. The lane they were on was a muddied mess. Trulane mounted his horse and tied off his end of the rope to the horn of his saddle. Jim was brought outside and immediately grasping the intent of the set-up, grimaced.

Trulane addressed Artie. “Anytime you want to stop and chat, just holler out.” Trulane dug in his stirrups and the horse reared, then took off like a shot.

Artie had tried to brace himself, but it was futile. He immediately lost his footing and was pulled along like a ragdoll behind the horse. He was instantly covered in mud, but that did little to lessen the impact, as there were rocks and stones hidden in the path.

The guard next to Jim leaned in and said, “you could make things a lot easier for your friend if you just told us what you know.”

Trulane turned and was riding back. He checked his horse just short of where Jim was standing. Jim watched as Artie’s; thankfully unconscious body rolled to a stop. Jim didn’t even think about it. It was enough.

“Mister, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just don’t hurt my friend anymore.” Jim knelt down to check Artie for some sign of life. He looked up at Trulane in anguish that was only partially acted. “He’s been like a brother to me. I beg you… sir…”

Trulane dismounted, handed the reins to his Lieutenant, and motioned Jim’s guard to bring him in the tent. Two others roughly grabbed Artie and dragged him in as well.

Trulane pulled out a map showing the Spotsylvania courthouse and surrounding areas. He placed stones on the corners to keep it from rolling back on itself.

“You had best start talking, or I’ll finish what I started with your friend. I’m sure you can see he will not survive much more of this. Show me what Grant has planned!”

Jim had hardly said a word to any captors up to now. He did his best imitation of an uneducated man. “I…sir, I’ll help. I swear I will, but…”

“Spit it out boy! I haven’t got the time for your childish babbling!” Trulane screamed.

“I can’t read, sir…” stammered Jim.

Trulane realized he had made a terrible error. The smarter of the two, lay on the floor unconscious. The young man before him was useless. He thought it quite clever of Grant to entrust vital intelligence to a man who could not read. Deciding to abandon this ineffectual effort, he turned to the Corporal by the tent entrance and shouted.

“Take them outside and hang them!”

Jim knew he had him now. This was playing out exactly as he had hoped. He sprang the trap. “Wait, you promised!” shouted Jim.

“But boy, you cannot give me anything useful,” said Trulane flatly.

“But sir, you didn’t let me…please don’t hang us!” pleaded Jim.

“Give me something I can use or you’re both off to meet the devil as is your due.”

Jim frantically fumbled with his belt buckle, pulling out the carefully folded paper. “He’s got one too,” he said pointing to Artie.

Artie, who was starting to come to, groaned as Trulane’s men roughly extracted the orders from his belt buckle. Trulane grinned in triumph. What had seemed like a total loss, was now looking like a moment of glory, as Trulane digested the information in the documents and referred to his map. Jim caught Artie’s eye and gave the slightest of nods to him. Artie shut his good eye and took a ragged breath. The unspoken message between them conveyed they were now able to try to escape this hellish camp.

Jim had slipped a small marble-like object into his hand when he had extracted the orders. Its diminutive looks were deceptive though. It was much more than a simple marble. This marble packed quite a punch. Just as he was readying himself, a Sergeant shoved a frightened looking young man into the tent.

“Sir, I caught this one on the outskirts of camp, and in these damnable Union blues! He’s a turncoat and a deserter sir, and the men are calling for his blood.”

Trulane frowned, gathered up the maps and documents and started out of the tent.

“We will deal with him, but not now Sergeant. I’ve got to get this information to General Sanders, maybe even the Grey Fox himself. We can dispose of all three of these riff-raff later.” Trulane put on his hat and, with his Lieutenant in close step behind him, strode out of the tent.


	6. Promises

Artie looked up at the newcomer with his one good eye and froze. He was looking into the face of none other than Joshua Cassidy.

Joshua’s terror gave way to anger as he stared down at the man on the tent floor, recognizing him in spite of the lack of disguise.

“You tricked me,” he said pointing at Artie, his hand shaking with rage. “I went to the bridge over the stream, just like you told me to, but they commenced shooting at me and I had to run…I got caught up in the crossfire and ended up back with my unit. They saw me dressed-up in the uniform you gave me…I hope you rot in hell mister. I’ll hang because of you.”

Jim took in the scene. He had no idea what the boy was talking about, but obviously Artie did. He could see mixed emotions play over Gordon’s face: surprise, regret, frustration, all mixed with something more sinister - guilt.

Jim knew Artemus would never set up someone like the young man had described. But the boy had to be telling the truth, at least to some extent. He also knew Gordon well enough to know he was not going to leave this boy to whatever fate these Rebels had planned for him. Now West had to figure out how to get both his injured partner and an angry young man out of this camp.

The guards pushed Jim and Joshua toward the center post of the tent. They had kept the ropes binding Artie’s wrists but deemed him too injured to escape, so left him laying on the ground in the middle of the tent. Joshua glared at him, then moved so he would not have to look at Gordon as they tied him and Jim back-to-back on the post. Once the guards were satisfied their three prisoners weren’t going anywhere, they moved over to the table and got some food.

Jim waited for the guards to shift their attention to eating, then he whispered to the young man tied-up behind him. “Son, I know you do not know me. And that obviously, something between you and my partner did not transpire as planned, but - this is war. Many plans do not go as we think, through no fault of the ones doing the planning.”

The boy grunted, not in agreement, but not arguing either.

Jim continued, “I know this man. His name is Artemus, Captain Artemus Gordon. He is a man of honor. A man who keeps his promises. Moreover, I know for a fact that the area around that bridge was the site of a bloody battle. The bridge changed hands between North and South at least five times during the day. Most likely, the ones who would have let you pass were dead before you got there.”

Joshua was silent. The only noise from Artie was his raspy, ragged breaths. When Joshua finally spoke, it was so softly that Jim could barely hear him.

“You may speak the truth mister, but that don’t change the fact that we are all going to die…and I…I…”

The boy’s voice faltered, and Jim felt him slump down behind him. He realized how young he was and thought he might be frightened, but then Joshua continued.

“My older sister, she’s waiting for me near Petersburg. My Pa is an evil man. He always beat my Ma and sister pretty bad. Then he wanted all of us to join up with the Rebels. But we were already planning on run-in’ away to a little town just outside of Jefferson City, Missouri, where Ma’s family is from…then he found out. He beat Ma so bad,” Joshua stopped, gathering his emotions. “Ma died two days later, so I took off with my sister. We were on the run together, until some soldiers from my hometown stumbled into our camp one night. They were threatening my sister, so I told them I’d join up with them, but only if they let my sister go.”

Jim looked over at Artie, who was listening in on the conversation as best he could.

Joshua continued, “I want to get into a Union regiment. I want to find my Pa and make him pay for what he did to Ma. And then, when the war is done, I want to go find my sister. She and I can start over, but if they hang me now, I’ll never make things right.”

Jim was trying to find the right words to respond when Artie looked him in the eye and raggedly whispered.

“As William Shakespeare said, ‘If you… prick us, do we… not bleed? If you… tickle us, do we… not laugh? If you… poison us, do we… not die? And if you… wrong us, shall we… not revenge?’” Artie struggled to get the words out. “And I for one…am hoping…we can arrange…for Joshua to find…the revenge he seeks,” he said, gasping.

Jim nodded to Artie, then leaned his back against the post so his hands could reach into the back of his belt, where a feather-thin and razor-sharp blade was concealed.

“Now, I take it your name is Joshua?” Jim asked.

Josh acknowledged that it was.

“Mine’s Captain Jim West. Captain Gordon and I will do everything in our power to make sure you escape here tonight. In addition, what you do after that is your business not ours - so you are under no obligation to us. Nevertheless, as you saw when you arrived, Capt. Gordon is not in good shape. It is my responsibility to make sure he gets back to the Union camp. You may not think kindly of him, but he is a hero in this war. A man who risks everything over and over for our cause. He and I are on an urgent mission and we are duty-bound to complete it. I need your help, Joshua. And if you do what I ask you to, with a bit of skill and a lot of luck, we’ll be able to have a future that doesn’t include a visit to the hangman.”

“Mister, if you help me get outta here, I’ll do whatever you say.”

Jim looked over at Artie. He was ready to begin their escape plan, but he wasn’t sure if Artie was. He had to know. Too much was at stake if they didn’t get out of here. They would not be able to tell Grant and Hancock that they were successful. With Joshua’s help, he just might be able to get them all out of here.

Artie knew what Jim was thinking and met his eyes. “Jim, I’ll need help... but I think I can make it... And I can provide... the diversion you need.”

Jim nodded and leaned back again, whispering to Joshua. “In a minute or two, Captain Gordon is going to create a bit of a smokescreen - literally. I want you to play along. I’ll cut the ropes, then, once the guards are distracted, we’ll make our move. I’ll need your help to take care of the rest of the guards in here and get Capt. Gordon out of the tent. Once outside, we’ll move as fast as we can toward the open field to the east. We’ll need to cross it at some point and head into the forest. Once we get far enough from this camp, you can decide if and where you want to split off from us. But you’ve got to promise me, you’ll help us as long as you can.”

“You have my word. Let’s get out of here,” said Joshua.

Jim worked the blade, cutting the ropes that bound his and Joshua’s hands. When he finished, he gave a nod to Artie and rolled the small marble over to him. Artie grabbed it, then began shouting as loudly as he could, given his injuries. “Guard! I need… to talk to you. Get… over here. There’s more information… than is on those orders!”

The guards turned around to look at the commotion. Joshua saw them shrug their shoulders, so he decided to try something to get them to come over.

“You make me sick,” he yelled over his shoulder at Artie. “Here I am, likely to get myself hung, while you just give up vital information. You’re a coward and a traitor! If I weren’t tied to this post, I’d whip you worse than anything they’ve done to you.”

Fighting off the pain, Artie played along as best he could. “Son…I’ll tell them what I want…otherwise... we’ll both… be at the end of a rope tonight. Doesn’t matter…except to a fool.”

“You callin’ me a fool? I’m not the one who had the stuffing kicked out of him,” argued Josh.

Artie turned his attention to the guards, who were now walking over, trying to decide what to do. Addressing the guard who appeared to be in charge, he gasped. “I’ve got more information…Need to talk to Trulane…if you don’t bring him here…I’m sure he won’t be… too forgiving…”

The one in charge motioned the other two to keep an eye on Jim and Joshua, while he set his gun aside and knelt down next to Artie.

“If this is some kind of a trick, I’ll personally hang you up,” said the man.

“Trick…well, not really…” With that, Artie took the marble clasped between his bound hands and smashed it on the ground in front of him. A thick cloud of grayish smoke erupted, rapidly filling the tent, and causing everyone to start coughing.

Jim, who had held his breath, quickly stood up and spun around, catching the guard nearest him with a double-fisted upward punch. Never seeing it coming, the man’s eyes rolled up, as he fell like a log. Jim then kicked the gun that the guard had set down next to Artie, over toward Josh.

Joshua grabbed the gun and motioned for the second guard near the door to drop his weapon.

The guard nearest Artie dealt a quick, vicious kick to Artie’s ribs before Jim struck a karate chop to the back of his neck and dropped him to the floor.

Jim took his knife and cut the rope off of Artie’s wrists. Speaking over his shoulder to Joshua he said, “Josh, make sure you’ve got all of their weapons and keep watch that no one is coming.”

He then turned his attention to Artie, who was struggling to stay conscious and catch his breath. Artie had drawn up his knees into a fetal position, fighting off the waves of pain.

“James,” he started - and Jim knew where this was going. Artie hardly ever addressed him as “James”.

“James, my boy, I’m no good…. you won’t make it with me… get Joshua out of here… I promised him…”

“Artemus Gordon, my friend,” Jim said, sternly, “you are sorely mistaken if you think for one moment you are not accompanying Josh and me.”

He then turned to Joshua. “Son, I need you to help me tie up these guards and then assist me with Capt. Gordon.” He stated it flatly, with an unwavering self-assurance, leaving no room for debate.

Joshua helped Jim tie and gag the three guards to the same post they had just occupied. They helped themselves to as much of the weapons and ammo as they could carry. Then he and Jim hauled Artemus to his feet. Artie choked out a stuttered cry as they each pulled one of his arms around their shoulders, so they could help him walk.

Jim and Joshua both held a pistol in their free hand as they tentatively exited the tent. Glancing around nervously, they were relieved to see most of the camp was dispatched to reposition the artillery based on the deceptive intelligence they had given Trulane.


	7. Crossing Hallowed Ground

Josh pointed his head toward a small cart path just off the main road. On one side of the path, the remnants of a rough-hewn picket fence bounded a vast, open field. On the other side stood a narrow stand of trees. They moved as quickly as they could, practically dragging Artie along. With one backwards glance to make sure no one had spotted them, they slipped in amongst the trees.

Artie was choking back his cries. He knew that he would give away their position if he vocalized his agony. Jim wished he would lose consciousness. As it was, they moved slowly, picking a path through the underbrush. Josh glanced over at the silent field across the path.

The grass glistened too red, tainted with the blood and bodies of the battle that had raged over the last two days. The sounds of battle were now distant. The war had moved on, past this hallowed ground. Now it was the final resting place for the soldiers who had fought their last fight here. Joshua also realized they would have to cross this field to follow the directions Jim had given earlier.

“We’re gonna have to head over yonder,” Josh pointed to the field with his pistol, “and we’d best be doin’ it as quick as we can.”

Jim nodded in agreement and told Artie, “Listen, my friend, we’re going into the open and we need to move fast across the field.”

Artie knew why Jim was telling him this. “You do… whatever you need. I’m just along… for the ride… on this trip,” he said grimly.

The temperature had dropped, as the waning hours of this seemingly endless day slipped away. Dusk settled on the corpse-strewn field of battle. The rain had stopped, but a ghostly fog swirled through the surrounding trees and enveloped the dead on the field as if in a shroud. Through the unnatural stillness walked the silhouettes of three men. Their heads bent down, as they slowly threaded their way amongst the bodies of both men and beasts. The only sound was the soft “swish” of the blood-soaked field grasses hitting their legs and Artie’s occasional groans of pain. As they reached the edge of the forest on the other side of the field, anyone who was watching would have seen them disappear into the fog-cloaked trees as if the forest had swallowed them. But there were no living eyes to watch them this night.

Once in the relative safety of the forest, Artie whispered, “Jim…I…need to…take a break.”

Jim knew Artie would push himself past the point where he “needed a break”. So, the fact that he was even asking, probably meant it was needed long ago. Jim also knew Artie would never ask to stop in that open field, both because it would leave them exposed, but more so because none of them wanted to stop in that place of death. The forest not only provided cover, but a nearby group of fallen trees provided a concealed place for Artie to rest. Jim and Josh helped get him settled in as comfortable a position as possible given the circumstances.

“Listen Artie, I’m going to get our bearings and hopefully some help as well,” said Jim.

“Jim, I can assure you…that I’m not… going anywhere,” said Artie with a grimace. “Listen, be careful out there.”

Jim nodded, then rose and turned to Joshua. “Son, you stay here with Capt. Gordon. Do whatever you need to hold your position. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Josh nodded and took the ammunition that Jim offered him. Jim West took on the air of a stalking wildcat and gracefully slipped between the trees, heading toward the barely audible sound of running water. Jim knew he needed to find where Hancock’s II Corps were and get Artie a doctor. As Jim approached the stream, he scrambled behind whatever cover remained along the embankment, which wasn’t much. Most of the shrubs and bushes had been trampled and mangled as the two armies had seesawed back and forth as they gained, lost and regained the ground.

After a few quick sprints, Jim ducked behind a tree and spotted a bridge. He thought he could make out two figures, wearing Union blues, standing watch. Given the ferocity of the battle and lack of visibility due to the fog, he could hardly expect them to do anything but shoot. However, the fact they were stationed here, meant the camp must be nearby. He decided to circumvent this crossing and find a less direct way in.

He traversed the ground in near silence, and alternated quick bursts of speed, with sudden stops. He tucked himself behind a tree or shrub for cover, then making sure no one had spotted him, he continued until he came to the edge of the camp. He navigated behind wagons and tents, eventually finding one of the command tents. Slipping around the back, he cut a quick slit and rolled in, and jumped to his feet as four guns pointed straight at him.

Smiling, Jim raised his hands. “Hi there, fellas. I’m hoping General Hancock is here.”

“Why? So as you can shoot him?” demanded the Sergeant standing nearest to Jim.

“Look boys,” began Jim cautiously, “I realize I may look like an intruder, but I’m not. I’m a Union spy and I’ve just come back from a vital mission - given to me by General Grant himself. I need to reach him or General Hancock immediately. Also, my partner, Captain Artemus Gordon is hurt and needs medical attention.”

Before Jim could get out another word, the Sergeant lowered his weapon.

“Then you must be Capt. James West. You say Capt. Gordon is injured?”

“Yes,” said Jim, grateful that he had found a friendly ear.

The Sergeant barked out orders to his men, then held out a hand. “Listen, anyone who’s a friend of Capt. Gordon is a friend to me. The name is Roy, Sgt. Roy Oakley. I’ll take you to General Hancock. I’ll also assist you personally with Capt. Gordon. He’s one reason I’ve made it through this bloody conflict so far.”

West took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.

“Let’s attend to our duty to country first, and then you have my word that we’ll attend to our duties to Capt. Gordon.”

Oakley took West to General Hancock’s tent and found Grant already there. Seeing Jim, both Generals stopped their conversation and turned their attention to Jim’s report. Jim gave it quickly but covered all of the important points. He also told the Generals about Artie’s injuries and that he had left him with Joshua across one of the tributaries of the Po River.

Grant and Hancock had a brief conversation about the report, then noticed West and Oakley shuffling impatiently.

Grant waved his cigar in the air. “Alright, you two go get our friend and let me know when you’re back. I want to see him after the doctor has treated him.”

West and Oakley didn’t wait to be dismissed. They were already half-way out of the tent. Miller appeared running alongside them with Jim’s blue Cavalry jacket. Jim shed his tattered scouting jacket and pulled on his preferred uniform.

Miller also handed Jim his gun belt and as he jogged along, he said, “Jim, I’ll go get Doc Coleman and have him waiting at the edge of camp. He’s the best we’ve got.”

“Thanks Miller. Artie will need it - he’s in bad shape.”

They stopped as they came up to the horse paddock and a wagonette, that Oakley started to rig to his horse. West mounted his horse and loaded his gun. Several of Oakley’s men had already saddled up and joined them. Oakley signaled he was ready and climbed into the cart. He checked and turned the horse and followed Jim and the other riders out of camp.

This time, Jim’s route was not circuitous. He easily found a direct path that the cart could navigate. When they reached the bridge, the two guards Jim had seen earlier, jumped in the back of the wagonette at Oakley’s signal. As they progressed, they heard gunfire. West and the men on horseback proceeded with guns drawn. Oakley fell in behind them.

As Jim came upon the spot where Artie and Josh were positioned, he saw they were pinned down by only a handful of Confederates. He entered the fray at a gallop, taking out two of them as he rode through. The others were scattered or killed by Oakley’s men. Once they were disposed of, he called out, “Josh, it’s me, Jim. Are you alright?”

Joshua poked his head over the log and seeing Jim, he cried out. “Come quick Mr. West! Capt. Gordon - he ain’t doin’ too well.”

West dismounted and hit the ground running. Oakley was only a step or two behind him. They simultaneously leapt over the fallen log and scrambled to Artie’s side.

Artie’s face was ashen and his eye swollen shut. His breathing was shallow and labored. The caked-on mud had dried but didn’t stop the flow of blood from his leg wound.

“My Lord, in heaven above,” gasped Oakley. “Captain, what have they done to you?”

Gordon looked up and managed a weak smile. “Oakley…how nice to…see you. I’ve been out…entertaining the troops…you might say…”

He started to cough, and Josh leaned over to support him. Jim could see the boy had changed his tune about Artie. Not that he was surprised. Artie always managed to get allies, no matter where he went. Josh saw Jim looking at him and guessed what West was thinking.

“Capt. Gordon was telling me a bit about what you and he do, about how you’re some kinda’ special agents.”

“Well, son, Capt. Gordon is one to spin a yarn, that’s for sure. Listen, Josh, would you help get the cart over here? Sergeant Oakley and I have to get the effervescent Capt. Gordon ready for travel.”

“Yes sir, Capt. West,” said Josh. Then he gently leaned Artie back against the log and stood up. He left to help bring the cart around. Jim and Roy knelt down next to Artie.

Artie looked back and forth between the two men flanking him. “Uh-oh…from the look…on both your faces…I don’t think… I’m…going to like…what you’re about…to tell me.”

Jim put his hand on Artie’s shoulder. “We need to move you onto a cart and then get you back to camp. It will hurt like all hell, but a doctor, the best we’ve got is waiting there for you.” Jim’s steely blue eyes locked with Artie’s brown ones.

“Jim…hit me.” Artie grinned his lopsided grin. “No, don’t just…hit me. Really…sock me…” Seeing the skeptical expression on Jim’s face he added quickly, “please.”

Jim realized why Artie wanted to be knocked out. The pain of getting him into the cart would be unbearable in his current condition. Gritting his teeth, he hit Artemus Gordon as hard as he had ever hit anyone, because he didn’t think he could stand to do it again.

Later that morning, with Artie in the expert care of Doc Coleman, Jim took Joshua to meet General Grant. He filled Grant in on all of the things Joshua had done in the past few days to help them.

Grant turned his stoic gaze to assess the young man. “Mr. Cassidy, that is a strong endorsement from a very trusted man.” He snapped his fingers. “Sgt. Oakley, what do you think about giving this man a field commission and an immediate promotion to Corporal?”

“Sounds just about right to me, sir,” Oakley responded.

“Very well Sgt. Oakley. See that he gets equipped as best you can and that he gets settled in. Congratulations, Corporal,” said Grant.

Oakley gave a quick salute, then led Joshua out of the tent, but Joshua hesitated. “General Grant, sir, I never thought I’d get outta’ that Rebel camp, let alone meet you. You have my word that I will be as good a soldier as I can be. If I end up half the man that either Capt. West or Capt. Gordon are, I’ll count myself lucky.”

Grant smiled at the boy. “Son, you’re doing a pretty good job keeping up with these scoundrels. And, this is off the record, but I’d say you’ve chosen some fine role models. Now go with the Sergeant so he can get you outfitted.”

Josh gave a quick salute then followed Oakley.

Grant then addressed West. “Now Capt. West, I want to see Artemus. Lord knows what he’s done in the name of God and country.”

West’s stoic face was pensive. “General, he’s really been worked over. I’m worried we let it go too far this time.”

“Well, Capt. West, if I know Artemus, he will say he was just playing his role. Let’s see if we cannot provide some incentives for his speedy recovery.”

Grant strode out toward the field hospital set up in a nearby church. West caught up with him and heard the General saying something about a showgirl, who was now a nurse in Ohio, who could sing like an angel - among other talents.

The wounded men in the field hospital were overjoyed to see their commanding officer. Grant obliged each and every one of them with a handshake and a few words of encouragement, until finally there was only one bed left to visit.

Grant pulled up a chair and sat down next to Artie’s bed. Artie appeared to be soundly sleeping, but then he quietly said. “These men… appreciate your visit here… more than you may know. As do I.”

Jim stepped back a respectful distance, so that Grant and Gordon could have a decorum of privacy. As he watched the two men converse in hushed tones, it occurred to him how similar Artie’s relationship to General Grant mirrored their friendship. A friendship forged in the trials of war, maybe more like camaraderie. They were separated in age by a similar amount, while they had chosen quite different careers, they still had so many traits in common. They shared an obsessive sense of duty and honor, a fierce desire to right the wrongs of the world and they all seemed to rise to their finest, in times of danger or crisis. Jim hoped his gut feeling, that he and Artemus Gordon would share many more adventures together was correct.

_***Report of Major General John Gibbon; U.S. Army; Commanding Second Division_

_May 12-27, 1864_

_Our forces initially moved out to Guinea Station along the Richmond & Fredericksburg railroad, shortly thereafter diverging southward with Generals Wright, Warren, Burnside & Hancock each leading their troops to the East of Lee’s forces. The movement of the two armies had us converging on May 23rd in North Anna and Hanover Junction. The intelligence garnered by Captains West and Gordon saved countless lives. Lee moved his artillery away from where our main assault took place, based in part by the false information West and Gordon doled out to their interrogators. In speaking with General Grant, he made it clear he would never forget the sacrifices made on that night by these two men and neither will my men and I._


	8. Two Men Return

Artemus was moved to a field hospital in Ohio, where he completed his recuperation. As per arrangements Grant had made, one nurse in particular supervised his care. She employed a therapy of singing show tunes each day to help exercise his lungs and reduce the chance for the build-up of fluids. She was uniquely qualified for this work, as she had appeared in the Broadway hit, “The Seven Sisters” before the war. When the fighting started, she had immediately volunteered to care for the sick and wounded, as she had experience with caregiving for her family years ago. Her theatrical connection and inventive therapeutic regime undoubtedly contributed to Artie’s speedy recovery.

Once his physician had cleared him, Artie rejoined his company in mid-July 1864. He was deployed to Henrico County, Virginia, where the II Corps under Hancock were joined by two divisions of Sheridan’s Cavalry Corps. His first assignment was to cross the James River at Deep Bottom, by a pontoon bridge, and draw the enemy troops to the North side of the James. Artie was fascinated by the pontoon bridge and had lingered as long as he could, talking with a couple of the designers, before one of his Lieutenants came back to collect him.

After a day filled with skirmishes, but little advancement, the fighting stalled, and the troops returned to their rear lines. Later that evening, a group of officers from both Hancock’s and Sheridan’s commands assembled in a farmhouse near their camp for whatever drink and food could be scavenged. Jim West and Roy Oakley, now a First Lieutenant, were two of those officers. As they wearily walked into the dimly lit house, they could hardly miss Artemus. He was in fine form, showboating for the men, with a lovely lady dangling at the end of each arm. The laughter from the story he was telling filled the room.

“Well, Oakley, I’m not sure whether Artemus is in fighting shape or not, but obviously he is quite well enough to resume his acting career,” said Jim, fondly.

“Jim, I swear that man recovered just so he could continue his amorous ways with the ladies!” Roy commented with a smile.

“Why the least we can do is get him a drink, seeing he doesn’t have a spare arm free to do it himself,” said Jim, cheerfully.

Jim and Roy wove their way between the tangled groups of soldiers, chairs and tables into the sitting room, where Artie was holding court. 

Jim crossed his arms over his chest and with a smirk, cleared his throat loudly. “I see the infamous Captain Gordon has returned from the brink of death to save these lovely ladies. I’m just trying to figure out, from what?”

Artie’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Jim, my boy - and Roy! What a pleasant surprise! I should have guessed you two were involved in this campaign. Do sit down.”

He extracted his arm from one of the girls. “Daphne, dear, would you be so kind as to round up another friend of yours and a few more glasses? It seems Capt. West and…. ah, now 1st Lieutenant Oakley are unaccompanied this evening.”

Daphne smiled demurely. She ran her hand along the back of Artie’s neck before heading into the kitchen. Jim and Roy pulled over a couple of chairs.

Artie pointed to an elaborately carved, ebony cane with a silver eagle’s head handle, that was propped next to his chair.

“So far, I’ve healed up pretty well. In fact,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I really don’t need the cane, but the ladies fawn over me when I use it.”

“Capt. Gordon, you are by far the cleverest scoundrel I ever had the honor to serve with,” said Oakley.

Artie threw him his signature grin-wink-nod in appreciation of the compliment. Jim drew out the remnants of the bottle of cognac from his haversack and filled up Artie’s empty glass. Artie’s eyes lit up with pleasure when he saw it.

“So, Artie,” said Jim. “How long have you been out of the hospital?”

“I just got here about a week ago,” he said. Then stopped, to fully savor the cognac. “Oh, James, I really owe you for this one. This is fantastic!”

“You deserve it, buddy,” said Jim.

“Perhaps,” Artie said thoughtfully. “But where was I…I got here about a week ago, but it was difficult to leave the angelic nurses there.”

“I can only imagine,” said Jim. Daphne set down two glasses for Jim and Roy, and Jim filled them. “General Grant was kind enough to give me an overview of the nurse’s attending to your medical care. He’s the one who arranged for the one who was a singer.”

“Then I owe the General, all the more…quite kind of him. Though, I’m certain I deserved all of her gentle ministrations. I’ll admit it took longer than I hoped. I wanted to get back to my company. I didn’t miss the war, but I missed the men.”

The three men sat in silence for a moment, then Artie waved them in closer. “When we crossed the pontoon bridge, I met a fellow, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Pleasants. He’s got a plan that involves some explosives. He was a coal mining engineer before the war, and he’s got an idea to help deal with Petersburg.”

Artie had a gleam in his eye, as he rubbed his hands together. “I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but I’m a dab hand with explosives. I’m an also serviceable chemist and inventor, as a hobby, mind you. I find that scientific studies, applied to making our job easier are always time well spent. I’ve always thought that someday I might have my very own laboratory. You know, I could really make some improvements and additions to our arsenal.”

Jim rolled his eyes and said, “Artie, you never cease to amaze me. But before you blow anything up, I think another drink is in order.”

Everyone agreed on that. Daphne returned with two other lovely ladies, who sat next to Jim and Roy. Daphne brought a case over to Artemus.

“You mentioned you played, so I brought my brother’s fiddle. Will you play for us tonight Artemus?” Daphne asked, handing the instrument to him.

Artie smiled at her. “For you, my dear, of course.” He quickly tuned the instrument and began playing “Lincoln and Liberty”. This got all the troops in the house up on their feet, singing along. Jim watched the effect and smiled. After Cold Harbor and the other horrors that he and all these men had been through, it was good to see a lighter side of humanity. He realized then, how much he had missed Artemus Gordon these past weeks. This was one of many reasons why.

Artie had been consulting with Lt. Col. Pleasants and the 48th Pennsylvania Infantry since he returned to duty. Grant had confided in him that he thought the effort merely a way to keep the men occupied. Pleasants, however, was a resourceful man and even though it was difficult to get materials, his men continued to make slow progress. Artie helped design an ingenious air exchange mechanism near the entrance to keep fresh air supplied to the miners.

The first attempt to light the fuse fizzled due to a bad splice, but finally at 4:44am on the morning of the 30th of July, the charges exploded creating a massive shower of earth, men and guns. While the explosion itself worked as planned, the following Union assault was a shambles. Last minute changes in which company would lead the attack and lack of a coherent strategy led to disaster. As the troops became mired in the crater, the assault stalled. Multiple companies were trapped and getting slaughtered, so the rear guard repositioned to give cover and try to get them out.

On the left flank, cavalry companies led by Jim and Roy tried to advance but were pinned down taking heavy fire. On the right, several companies, including Artie’s, pressed into some abandoned trenches, and tried to catch the Rebels in a crossfire. As the battle drew on, the Union lines were forced back.

Suddenly, a Confederate calvary unit charged into the thick of the fight. The unit was led by none other than Colonel Trulane. He was relishing the punishment his company heaped upon the trapped men, especially the black soldiers.

As Grant and his command team grimly watched through their spyglasses from a nearby hilltop, they saw Trulane check his horse, bullets flying around him, though unfortunately, not hitting the mark.

Wielding his sword, Trulane pointed to the positions where he saw Jim and Artie. He yelled above the din of battle, shouting, “Not you two again! I swear on the sword of my father, on the honor of the South and on the graves of my men who died in Spotsylvania, I will make you pay. I curse both of you and your devil of a commander. I will extract my retribution!”

It appeared that Trulane would try to get his revenge right then and there. But as he reined his horse and turned toward Jim’s position, a Union artillery battery fired. Blinding, billowing smoke filled the crater. The Union troops used the opportunity to retreat. By the time the smoke cleared, Trulane and his men were nowhere to be seen.

Jim and Artie met up with Hancock and Grant later that evening to review the disastrous results and to plan the siege that was now the only option. Grant rubbed his face, still processing the tactical errors and the cost of the events of the day.

“I suppose you saw the flailing sword of who I can only assume to be, the maniacal Colonel Trulane?”

“He was hard to miss,” stated Jim flatly.

Artie shook his head but said nothing. His jaw twitching in anger at the man who had injured him so egregiously. Jim stepped in to fill the silence. “I’d say he’s taking it rather personally, in a very, insane vengeful way.”

“Too true,” said Grant. “And I fear that regardless of the outcome of this battle or this war, if he survives, we have not seen the last of the dear Colonel.”


	9. Curtain Call to Duty

In the early spring of 1868, (formerly) Capt. Artemus Gordon was working a show at Wallack’s Theatre in New York. He was especially excited about this new opportunity because he would get to play the violin as a part of his role. He had been staying late after rehearsal to get in more practice time, though he hardly needed it. He loved to hang around after everyone had left. There was something almost spiritual about an empty theatre and the promise of the next show. The cheers and applause of past and future audiences seemed to hang in the air.

The forlorn sound of the violin echoed through the empty auditorium and melded back with his playing, so it seemed that there were two or three players on stage rather than just him. He played the “Ashokan Farewell” a bittersweet tune that he always lost himself in. He closed his eyes, giving himself to the music. He was so engrossed that he didn’t notice a door open, or see a compact, broad-shouldered, bearded man settle into a seat at the back of the dimly lit hall. As the song ended, he drew the bow across the strings with a little flourish.

The man in the back began applauding. Artie’s head snapped up as he looked into the darkened back of the room. He bowed; he couldn’t help himself.

“Thank you…but you have me at a disadvantage, sir. Who are you?” Artie asked squinting to try to see.

“Well, Artemus, you know me as General Grant, but nowadays, I’m dipping my civilian hands into politics. I hope to shortly announce myself as candidate for the President of these thankfully, United States,” said Ulysses S. Grant.

Artie almost poked his eye out with his bow, as he snapped to attention and began to salute. Then catching himself, he chuckled.

“I guess old habits die hard, sir.”

Artie gently laid his violin into its case and walked back to where Grant was sitting.

“Indeed, listen Artemus, I need to talk to you about something that has been on my mind for some time now. Much as I’m certain you are extremely talented with that fiddle; I am stone cold deaf. In fact, the only song I even know is “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” I didn’t stop by to discuss music or theatre with you. It’s something else I’m after. How much do you know about the Secret Service?”

Artie looked at Grant quizzically.

“Not much. I know their primary mission is to suppress counterfeiting. The chief is William P. Wood and that recently their scope broadened into detecting persons perpetrating fraud against the government. Mostly what I’ve read in the papers or that friends in Washington have shared with me.”

Grant nodded in agreement.

“You’ve got the essentials. They are also assigned to protect the President and other important government officials. I hope to become President soon, and so, as you might imagine, this particular aspect of the Service is of much interest to me. I want men I can trust. Men I know from battle, who I have counted on before and who have never let me down. Men like you, Artemus.”

Grant paused looking up at Artie’s somewhat startled and blushing face.

“But sir,” began Artie, sweeping his arms around the theatre, “I’m an actor, a performer. I don’t know that I’m cut out for that type of work. In fact, I cannot think of one less suited to a desk job or such.”

Grant outright laughed at him.

“Artemus, it’s no desk job. And being the scoundrel you are, may initially dissuade you from law enforcement as a career. But you’re underestimating your unique talents. You certainly have some insights into the criminal psyche. And your acting ability is what caught my attention during the war. You can assume any persona, infiltrate any organization. Truthfully, Gordon, there were times during the war that I almost shot you thinking a Rebel had snuck into camp and was standing not five feet away from me. Think about it. This could be the greatest acting job of your life.”

Grant paused and saw he had Artie’s undivided attention.

“I mean seriously Gordon, I know you love to perform, but your performances here give a fleeting bit of entertainment to the crowds. Not that this is unimportant, but when you assumed a character on a mission, your acting was saving lives. And there was so much more on the line than a bad review. I remember the look you got in your eyes when I sent you on assignment. You loved that danger. You lived for that ultimate challenge.”

Grant had been gauging Artie’s reaction to what he was saying. He knew his words were reaching a part of Artemus Gordon that wanted more to life. The part that yearned for the ultimate test, that longed to leave the world of the mundane and achieve something greater.

“You served your country and me in an exemplary manner during the war. Now more than ever, this country needs men who will dedicate themselves to slowly stitching together, what has been torn asunder. We must protect the fabric of this nation. It hangs precariously at this moment in history. Think about it Artemus - your unique skills could help rebuild our country. Your nation needs you…I need you.”

Artie rubbed the bridge of his nose, deep in thought.

“I really don’t know what to say. This is… well, unexpected would be an understatement.”

Grant nodded. “I know I’ve given you a sizable chunk to chew on.” Grant stood up and crossed into the aisle where Artie was standing. “Let’s say we chew on some food while we’re at it. I just got off the train and I’m starving.”

“Certainly, sir, I know a great little Italian place down the street. Nothing fancy, but the food is unbelievable. If we’re lucky, Angelina will be serving tonight. She is absolutely bellisimo!”

Artie retrieved his violin from the stage and followed Grant out through the lobby. As he jogged to catch up, he heard Grant say, “Oh, by the way, if it isn’t too presumptuous of me, I’ve left James West outside while we were talking. Would you mind if he joined us?”

Artie raised his eyebrows. “No, I don’t mind at all. It’s been a couple of years since I last saw him. But sir,” he had finally caught up with Grant, “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he is here, is it?”

Grant chuckled and threw an arm over Artie’s shoulder. “I’m not taken to lying - so, I’ll fess up. It is no coincidence. In fact, I just finished making the same offer to James before I came to speak with you.”

The two men spilled out of the theatre onto the sidewalk. It was moderately crowded as it was near closing time for most of the nearby offices, but the silhouette of James West was unmistakable. His muscular body, wrapped in a tight-fitting suit, was leaning against the side of the building. One leg was bent and propped up against the granite wall. He was intently observing two attractive women across the street, who in turn were definitely observing him. He tipped his hat and was about to tackle crossing the obstacle course the street presented when Grant loudly cleared his throat.

“A-hem James, let’s keep to the task at hand, shall we?”

Jim took one last look across the street, shrugged his shoulders apologetically, and with a tip of his hat to the ladies, he headed over to Grant and Gordon.

“Hey Artie! Great to see you again. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, Jim,” said Artie as he shook Jim’s hand, “I was just telling General…I mean Mr. Grant, about this charming Italian restaurant, with the loveliest serving ladies…”

“Say no more Artie, just lead on,” said Jim gesturing with his arm for Artie to lead the way.


	10. Dinner With a Side of Secret Service

The three men strolled down the street, interrupted several times by passers-by who recognized Grant. After a couple of blocks, they turned a corner and stepped into a cheerful, Italian restaurant.

Artie waved enthusiastically at a little old Italian lady in the back. As she squinted to see the source of the wave, a huge smile crept across her face. She shuffled up to the front of the restaurant as quickly as she could and took Artie by both arms, giving him a good shake.

“Artemus! It has been too long since I have seen you! You are nothing but skin and bones.”

Turning her attention to the two men behind Artie and seeing Grant, she exclaimed with surprise, “Oh, my, my, my! Ulysses S. Grant is right here in my humble establishment. Such an honor!”

She waved her arms summoning the other patrons to look at her special guests. Making quite a show of it, as celebrities were always good for business, she got them a table right in the center of the restaurant, then called back to the kitchen.

“Angelina, Angelina! Come out and see. The charming Mr. Gordon has brought some special guests tonight. You must make sure they are well taken care of.”

A beautiful, young, woman emerged from the kitchen and walked over to their table. Her long, auburn hair flowed across her shoulders and her deep, brown eyes shone with a sparkle.

“Why Artemus, such a pleasant surprise and you’ve brought such interesting guests,” she said.

Jim and Grant felt the powerful impact of Angelina’s eyes sweep over their faces. She lingered on Jim’s for a moment, obviously intrigued.

“Where are my manners,” exclaimed Artie, “Angelina, I’d like you to meet my good friends, Ulysses S. Grant and Jim West.”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you both. Artemus doesn’t often speak of the war, but I must assume that you all served together?”

Grant patted her hand. “Most of us don’t speak of the war but serve in it we did. James and Artemus were indispensable to me during that long, difficult time. However, this evening we shall speak only of the future. My dear, would you be so kind as to bring us some wine?”

Artie whispered to Angelina in Italian.

“You know the one I enjoy so much, the Borgogno Barolo Riserva…”

“Of course, Artie. You know I love it when you speak Italian.” Her hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment before she went to get the wine.

After a fine dinner, the trio savored the last of the wine and settled in with their cigars. Grant rolled his between his thumb and two fingers thoughtfully.

“Ah, that was an excellent meal, but as you both know I haven’t come here just for dinner. I have spoken to both of you and told you my plans. The post-war epic we are entering into, places demands on us and the country as a whole.” He took a few puffs of his cigar before continuing.

“There are unfortunately, still many who seek to undo this Union. These disruptors have a distinct advantage. They operate independently, various rag-tag groups, scattered around the country. They are the ghosts of past hatreds, and they linger still in the isolated valleys of the wild, wild, west and in the alleys of the tough and wild cities. They are opportunists who think they will be unchallenged. I intend to see that they never get those opportunities.”

Jim and Artie nodded in agreement. Since the war ended, they had each seen their share of the ugliness, that still festered with some men.

“During the war, the two of you forged a partnership. You hold a deep bond with one another, one that I’ve rarely seen. Your collaboration was the best in my command. No others were able to achieve what you two accomplished together. I’m asking you to reforge that partnership. You each bring distinct skills and talents, forming what I believe will be the perfect foil to the plans of those who oppose me and the reformation of this great country.”

Jim West looked over at Artie. Grant had just paid them the highest of compliments. A silence fell over the table. Not an uneasy silence, but rather a comfortable silence of old friends, as they contemplated Grant’s words.

Jim remembered the feeling he had in that makeshift hospital in the church near Spotsylvania. He had known two things on that day. First, he somehow knew Artemus would recover. Secondly, he knew he would someday work with Artemus again. He couldn’t say how he had known this. Jim never questioned his inner voice. He knew himself well enough to know he would continue to serve his country, one way or another. It was in his blood, that overwhelming sense of duty. It was just a fact he accepted without question. But he had never thought about a permanent partner, at least not until he had met Artie. They worked so well together, no need to explain, always able to anticipate what the other would do. In Jim’s book, it all came down to trust, and trust was not something he gave freely. It had to be earned, and Artemus Gordon had done that in spades.

Artemus Gordon was working through his own internal dialogue. He had never really known what he would do after the war. He loved acting, and he always would, but the war had changed him. Deep down, he knew Grant was right in telling him that he would never be truly satisfied going back to the theatre life he had known before the war. Though there were many a night, when he awoke from a nightmare of the horrors of what he had seen in battle, he also knew there was never a time in his life, when he had felt more alive. He had never felt so completely certain that the actions he took were the most meaningful ones he would ever take. Every disguise that he wore, every deception he perpetrated was for a greater good. While he could certainly enjoy a life in the theatre, he also knew that it held a hollowness that had not been there before. Moreover, the chance to work with an old comrade in arms, gave the whole idea added appeal. He trusted Jim with his life. It was really that simple.

Grant had remained silent, puffing his cigar, letting these two unique men wrestle with their own thoughts. When Jim and Artie finally looked up and met each other’s eyes, it was apparent that they had reached the same conclusion. No one had to speak a word.

Grant raised his glass. “To this great country and the honorable men who serve and protect her.”

West and Gordon met Grant’s raised glass with a “clink”.

“Here, here!” they said in unison, and were immediately joined by the other patrons.


	11. Still at War

While Grant, West and Gordon were in New York, toasting their future, another group of men with a vastly different agenda were doing the same in Tennessee.

For this group, there was still the sense of being in the midst of a military campaign. For this group, the war never ended. All the men stood at attention and saluted as Colonel Trulane stepped out of his tent and joined them.

Colonel Hawken Trulane was a vessel of hatred. That vessel was already filled at the start of the war, now it was overflowing with accumulated bitterness. He dismissed Lee’s surrender as invalid. After the war ended, he began making his way from Georgia back to Missouri and gathered as many like-minded men as he could find along the way.

As he headed his unit toward the Tennessee border, they encountered a frantic man running from some Federal troops. He told Trulane how he had been wrongly pursued, how he was just doing what he felt best served the Confederacy. The other men thought this man to be mad, but as Trulane worked out what had happened, he began to think he could use this type of insanity. The man had been running secret experiments on some of the prisoners at Andersonville. Trulane, long known for his sadistic fondness for interrogation and his disdain for anyone who didn’t share his cruel beliefs, found a kindred spirit in this newcomer, Dr. Karl Pitkane. The Union pursuers were quickly dealt with by Trulane’s men. Once they cleared the area, they made camp in a remote back wood. That evening, they huddled around the campfire.

Pitkane followed Trulane out of his tent. He looked nothing like anyone else gathered around the fire. His clothes hung from his thin, almost stick-like frame. What was left of his receding hair was slicked back. What little mustache he could grow formed a jagged, thin line on his upper lip. He was obviously uncomfortable and seemed like he’d be happier in a laboratory, than in the middle of the forest. His eyes were unusually large, and they darted around whenever the slightest sound issued from the brush. Trulane addressed his men.

“We have a new addition to our merry band of true Confederates. Though he may not look it, he is most definitely a military asset to our plans. He served the Southern cause admirably during the war. He has invented concoctions that controlled men’s minds, caused them great pain, made them unable to fight and in some cases - killed them. Just as damaging or deadly as a bullet.”

The men warily, nodded in agreement. Most would not care to keep company with such a man, however their loyalty to Trulane beat out their misgivings.

Trulane raised a toast. “Here’s to our newfound compatriot and the unique weapons he adds to our arsenal!”

Over the coming months and years, Pitkane, Trulane and his men wended their way toward Missouri. Trulane and Pitkane grew more entwined as the trip progressed. Trulane shared his plan for vengeance against the three men he saw as epitomizing his war experience: West, Gordon and Grant. They were the first targets in his quest for retribution. Karl Pitkane was only too happy to assist. His luck had completely turned when he stumbled upon Trulane. Up until then, he was soon to be at the end of a hangman’s noose. He no longer feared that. Trulane presented him with everything he needed. As they traversed the country toward Missouri, he had gathered funding, equipment, and test subjects, whose lives were easily forfeit. No need to worry about accidentally killing them, in this case, that was still considered a successful outcome. Pitkane relished the freedom he had and the comfort of a like-minded ally.

Near the end of 1869, an anonymous benefactor helped secure and renovate an old warehouse in Jefferson City, Missouri. Pitkane provided blueprints for the lab and test chamber, and sent them by courier, to the construction crew. When Trulane arrived in town, the building was almost complete. There were rooms for his men, a large kitchen and cafeteria, meeting and sitting rooms, but most of the building was dedicated to the manufacture, and distillation of Pitkane’s chemical compounds. And most sinister, a chamber to test those compounds on unwilling subjects.

Pitkane’s first trials were not always successful. But that didn’t slow the pace of the brutal experiments he carried out on unsuspecting victims. With each failure, he refined his vile concoctions. He was able to alter memories, and plant instructions into people’s minds. He could get people to do things completely counter to their moral fiber. Sometimes, the test subjects died. These were excruciating, lingering deaths. Pitkane made note of these formulations, with plans to weaponize them. Then, after a few months, he started to see his desired results in his quest for mind control. He made a traveling preacher commit rape and murder. When the chemicals had finally cleared his system and he realized what he had done, he hung himself in shame.

After each round of experiments, Pitkane would meet with Trulane and update him. He knew Trulane wanted to act on his revenge against West and Gordon. Pitkane wanted to make sure he didn’t let the Colonel down and got the desired outcome.

Trulane and Pitkane frequented one of the sitting rooms in the warehouse for their planning sessions. On this day, the afternoon sun trickled weakly in through a lone window, casting a muted glow over the room. Trulane leaned back in his amply sized leather chair.

“Our friends and the mysterious benefactor have blessed us with a comfortable base of operations and all of the equipment and facilities you have requested. How have the latest rounds of experiments gone?” Trulane asked Pitkane, as he too settled into an adjacent chair.

Pitkane's appearance had not changed much, except for his noticeable graying hair. His de facto uniform of black pants, white shirt, and white lab coat only added to the impression that he was a monochromatic daguerreotype. In fact, the men had been referring to him as “The Gray Rat” behind his back.

“Yes,” said Pitkane. “We have everything we need. I am as eager as you are to begin. We have finished our random trials. And now that I have refined the formula, I am distilling the first batch of my mind control substance. We have all the pieces in place on the chessboard except our first subject, Mr. West.”

“That will be rectified shortly, Karl. My men tell me that West checked into the City Hotel this afternoon. We’ll apprehend him tonight. And according to the latest intercepted telegraph, Gordon is still two to three days out in the wilderness. ”

“Excellent. That is perfect timing. I’m sure we will both be pleased with the results.”

Trulane raised his glass. “To the beginning of the end!”


	12. Initiation

Several days later, in the wilderness just outside of Jefferson City, Artie awoke in the hazy grip of bone-aching pain. The sun shining directly at him, made his massive headache almost unbearable. He was sitting on the ground, his back propped up against a tree trunk with his torso firmly tied to it. His arms extended straight up and were tied to a branch above his head.

Once able to fully, though painfully, open his eyes, he saw he was in a small clearing with a still smoldering campfire in the middle of it. Slowly turning his head, he saw Jim’s horse tied next to his own, in some nearby bushes and grew more puzzled. If Jim was here, why was he still tied to this tree? The last thing he remembered was riding out from the Wanderer along one of the outlying roads into Jefferson City, when someone jumped him from behind. He started to worry if Jim was all right, but then he saw his partner walking up the trail. He met Jim’s eyes and started to smile. However, when he saw the look on Jim’s face, his smile quickly faded.

Jim West looked down on the man he had pummeled last night with disgust. This hired henchman had done something to Artie. He had been waiting for the man to regain consciousness so he could find out where they had taken his partner and hopefully get to him before he was hurt…or worse. This lowlife cutthroat was the only one who could tell him where to find Artie. Jim was resolved to make sure he got all the information he needed.

“Listen, whatever your name is - I really don’t care. You are going to tell me where I can find my partner, Artemus Gordon - or I swear you’ll have hell to pay.”

Artie stared up at Jim, who was looming over him, flexing his hands into fists. Artie was so shocked he was almost at a loss for words.

“Jim…it’s me, Artemus Gordon…Mrs. Gordon’s son. What’s gotten into you buddy?”

Jim’s boot kicked out and his boot tip landed a blow squarely in Artie’s stomach. Artie gasped and jerked in his bonds. He looked up in shock at his friend’s face and saw only seething hatred. It dawned on Artie that something was terribly wrong. Jim had no idea who he was.

Jim saw nothing but a barrier to saving his friend and bent down on his knees to get face-to-face with this obstacle.

“How dare you.” Jim struggled to maintain control. “How dare you pretend to be my partner. He’s ten times the man you are. Don’t dare call me “Jim”. Your cover is blown, and you need to start giving me the information I want, or I’ll find a way to get it.”

Artie had rarely seen James West this upset. On the few occasions he had, the person on the receiving end had not fared well. It would have been flattering that Jim was this determined to find out what happened to him. Except that nothing had happened to him, he was right here. Jim obviously thought he was someone else. All of those years of disguises were finally catching up with him, he thought. Worse still, he had no idea how to get out of this situation. He couldn’t tell Jim where he was - he was right here. It was comical except for the deadly implications. Someone had succeeded in drugging or brainwashing Jim West.

Meanwhile, Jim was debating what to do to get this man to talk. He felt every second ticking by, was a second more of something terrible happening to Artie. Jim was the only one who could save him. He had to find out where he was.

“One more time, you lowlife, where is Artemus Gordon?”

“I swear,” Artie tried telling the truth, “I can’t help you find him.”

West closed his eyes. This was not going to be easy. “Okay pal, we’ll do this your way.”

Jim slipped a knife out from the hidden seam on the back of his jacket collar. The razor-sharp steel gleamed in the harsh light. Artie knew just how sharp that blade was. Ironically, he himself had sharpened all of their knives just a few days ago. Jim grabbed Artie’s right leg just above the knee and twirled the knife around.

Artie stared at Jim, his mouth open in shock, and he had to admit, fear.

“No, Jim, for God’s sake, please…. don’t.”

Jim’s eye twitched. It was the only outward sign that he had any reservations about his next move. Jim never relished having to extract information, but he was not going to let his best friend down. Jim steeled himself to the task at hand and sliced the knife across Artie’s thigh.

As he had many times before, Artemus Gordon used his incredible internal resolve and choked down the cry that was rising in his throat. He would not give in to the pain. He had to keep Jim talking. He prayed he could get through to the James West that was buried beneath this facade. They had called him silver tongued…he would need to be that and much more now. As he struggled to control his breathing, he noted that Jim had thankfully missed the artery. Maybe some of the real Jim West helped change the trajectory of the knife.

Jim wiped the blade on Artie’s jacket and stood up, staring down at the injury he had just caused. Blood was seeping out, staining the prisoner’s pant leg and Jim’s hands as well. Still, the man did not give much indication of the pain he must be feeling, except his clinched jaw. Jim rubbed his temples. His head was pounding in pain, clouding his ability to think clearly.

Jim had to admit a twinge of respect that the man had not cried out. It reminded him of Artie. No, no…this thug could not be anything like Artemus Gordon. How could he even think that…?

Artie gritted his teeth, he had to get Jim talking.

“Listen, you’ve shown me how much this Gordon fellow seems to mean to you. I swear I don’t know what happened to him, but maybe I can help you find the men who took him…”

Jim was struggling, grabbing his head, obviously in extreme pain. Artie hoped this meant he was breaking through the control of whatever drug or brainwashing technique had been used on him. Jim spun around, staring wildly at the man on the ground. Jim started mumbling to himself, but so softly, Artie couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?” Artie ventured the question, trying to get through to Jim.

At first, Jim just glared at him, then he started speaking in an artificially, mechanical voice. This frightened Artie more than any of the events so far.

“I must find Artemus. They have him somewhere. Make the imposter pay. Make him tell me where they have Artie. It must be just like Spotsylvania. Yes, Colonel Trulane. I understand. I must punish the imposter.”

Artemus Gordon realized then that he was in more trouble than he had imagined. He vividly remembered what had happened at Spotsylvania. He certainly would never forget Trulane. It appeared that Trulane was making good on his battlefield threats. It had taken five years, but Trulane was finally getting his revenge on him, and on Jim, and probably eventually on Grant. Artemus could only marvel at the patient planning necessary to pull this off. If Jim didn’t snap out of it soon…

His inner monologue was broken by the sound of a sharp crack. Artie looked up to see the glazed, blank stare back in Jim’s eyes. Jim had broken off a branch about the size of a baseball bat. Artie knew what was coming - making the ordeal even worse. Trulane had broken a couple of Artie’s ribs back in Spotsylvania. Now, Jim was about to do the same.

Artie met Jim’s gaze with an unfamiliar sense of hopelessness in his heart. “Please James…I don’t know what they did to you, but you must know this isn’t right… don’t do this…”

James West swung the branch down toward the imposter’s ribcage with all of his ample strength. This time Gordon did cry out as he felt a sickening snap inside his chest. Jim swung one more time, but his quarry was already unconscious.

Jim West had never known pain like the searing hammer now pounding inside of his skull. He staggered across the campsite, barely avoiding stepping into the last glowing embers of the fire. His vision was a blur, and he couldn’t remember anything from the last couple of days. He had a feeling he had done something terrible, unforgivable, but he had no idea what it was. He felt so very tired. If he could just lie down, maybe he would feel better. He wondered why he was here. Why would he be out camping? The train was on a siding only three or four miles from here. He saw the blurry outline of his horse, Blackjack, and managed to reach him, falling against the side of the saddle. The horse snorted and jumped nervously.

“Whoa boy,” West tried to calm the animal. It was as if Blackjack didn’t recognize him. This seemed important somehow, but he couldn’t think why. He could barely see the saddle horn two feet in front of his face, but he felt for it and grabbed on for dear life when he found it.

“Blackjack, I need you to get me back home. Can you do that?”

The horse snorted as if in response to the question. Jim pulled himself into the saddle. He was so familiar with the motions and the horse, that he checked the animal and moved out down the trail without even realizing he had done it. He sagged in the saddle and headed home, never seeing his partner tied to a tree not ten yards away.


	13. Regrets

Ulysses S. Grant paced inside the confines of his two top agents’ private rail car, “The Wanderer”. There would not have been much room to pace, even without the presence of a doctor, two cavalry officers and Colonel Richmond. Outside, the rest of the cavalry company milled about aimlessly. James West and Artemus Gordon were to have met Grant and Richmond in Jefferson City three days ago. When they didn’t show, Richmond alerted Grant and called in the cavalry company to bring the President out to the Wanderer.

Grant and Richmond were even more worried, because they had asked Jim and Artie to meet, to tell them that Colonel Trulane and some of his former officers had been spotted in Jefferson City last month. Grant had been there on the battlefield when Trulane had vowed to seek his violent vengeance against Jim and Artie, after his humiliation at Spotsylvania. Grant knew the man was dangerous and he wanted to let his boys know of the threat.

“Confound it, Richmond!” Grant barked, chomping his cigar. “Where are they? I cannot and will not continue to wear through this damn carpet. Last time I walked this much was when we marched through the Wilderness.”

Colonel Richmond knew better that to try to answer the President’s question. His job frequently involved waiting and worrying. He had grown accustomed to it. He was about to suggest a shot of whiskey when the door flew open.

A young Private spurted out, “Sir…I mean sirs, there’s a horse and rider approaching. He looks hurt. We’ve sent out two men to meet him.

Grant looked at Richmond with concern. “Only one. Where’s the other?”

They stepped out onto the rear platform and waited as the three riders approached. As they got closer, it was clear the cavalry men were escorting James West. Grant’s brow furrowed as the men helped Jim out of his saddle and onto the train. As Richmond and the others went inside, Grant remained outside for a moment, staring out into the wild, untamed landscape.

“Where are you Artemus, my friend?” He asked rhetorically, then he too headed inside as a chilly breeze ruffled his hair.

Richmond was with the Army doctor who was examining West. They stepped aside as the President moved over to the sofa.

“If he’s physically sound,” Grant said, “then I’d like to speak with James in private, please.” It was not a request. The entourage filed out, leaving Grant and West alone in the sitting room.

Jim looked at Grant with an almost childlike expression.

“I think something terrible has happened - but I can’t remember. My head…” He grasped his head in his hands sagging back in the sofa.

“Listen son, you’re going to tell me everything you can remember, and I’ll see if I can help you along. But we haven’t much time. I fear you are right. Something terrible has happened. You are the only one, who can help me find out what that is. James, you have sworn to serve me - but I am asking as a friend.”

Jim looked over at Grant. This man was like a father to him. More than his commanding officer, he was the reason West made it out of the war alive, the reason he took this job. To Jim, duty was lifeblood. The fact that Grant was asking him as a friend, meant the stakes in this poker game were different.

“Whatever it takes, sir,” Jim replied.

Over the next hour, Grant and West worked to reconstruct the timeline of the last few days. Grant told Jim about Trulane and as soon as he had spoken that name, Jim doubled over, as an excruciating wave of pain overtook him. Grant decided he had no choice but to press West past the pain - toward the truth.

Meanwhile, as dusk settled on the clearing, Artemus Gordon slipped in and out of consciousness. His breaths were raspy and rough, as he struggled against the jarring pain of his mangled ribs. Never was he more aware of each breath. How ironic that he needed to breathe to live, and yet, he felt it would feel so much better to just stop, thus ending the agony. His leg was still bleeding and he felt the chill of early evening settle on him heavily. Artie would have laughed at his predicament, but it would have hurt too much. Here he was, alone and out in the middle of nowhere - the great actor, dying without an audience.

Back on the Wanderer, Grant kept pushing West. Jim was sweating and obviously agitated. Grant began to repeat Trulane’s name and the threats he made. This made Jim even more distressed. He started to yell at Grant, though he was not really yelling at anyone in particular. It was still enough to prompt Richmond to poke his head in the door. Grant waved him back, not to be interrupted, he was too close to breaking through.

Jim stopped pacing and looked Grant in the eye, for the first time. The look that crossed his chilled features wasn’t anger and frustration, but fear. Grant decided to play his ace. In a voice he had not used since the war, he demanded, “Captain West! What is your report! Where is Captain Gordon!”

West’s face went blank and then slowly transformed into a look of total shock, self-loathing, and revulsion. He held his hands up in front of him. They were uncharacteristically shaking. They were also covered in blood.

“Oh, my God. What have I done?”

Very softly, Grant asked, “what happened to Artemus, James?”

Jim West looked into the eyes of the man he admired so much and made his bitter confession. “I killed him.”

Grant had not been prepared for this, but as the man who led the Federal Army during the war, he was perhaps most uniquely capable of dealing with this situation.

“Capt. West, you are mistaken. A diabolical, insane Confederate tried to kill Artemus. You were only the weapon he chose. And I’ll believe Artemus to be deceased, when I carry his body to his grave.”

West was still staring at the blood on his hands when Grant reached over and covered them with his.

“Son, you are the only one who can take me to him. I believe him to still be alive. He desperately needs you. You can undo the evil that has been perpetuated upon both of you. You must take me to him right now.”

West nodded and moved out the door. Grant followed behind him and called to Richmond.

“Follow us with a wagon and the doctor,” instructed Grant.

Richmond nodded grimly and got the cavalry ready. He also had one of the officers provide Grant with a horse. He and West, both expert horsemen, tore off into the night. The slower wagon and the rest of the men followed. After a short ride, they reached the campsite. Jim reared his horse and jumped down, staring into the darkness at the shadowy figure of his partner, still tied to the tree.

Grant asked West to restoke the fire and moved his horse to block Jim’s view, then he dismounted next to Artemus. In the pale moonlight, it was difficult to see, but Grant heard the shallow, ragged breathing, and knew Gordon had broken ribs. He heard the wagon pull up. The flickering light of the fire that Jim had just relit, cast eerie shadows across the campsite, but it was still difficult to see. Grant asked Richmond to bring over the doctor and a lantern.

Richmond lit the lantern and passed it to Grant. The scene it illuminated was gruesome. Grant said nothing but closed his eyes and muttered a short prayer. Then he took the knife from his belt and, as gently as possible, cut the ropes that bound Artie’s hands to the branch above his head. He then cut the other ropes binding Artie’s battered torso to the tree trunk. Richmond helped remove the ropes, as Grant cradled Gordon to keep him from falling.

The doctor joined them and began bandaging the leg. Grant tersely asked for some water. Richmond went back to his horse and grabbed his canteen. Grant took it and unscrewed the cap. Artemus stirred in his arms.

“Can’t…breathe…” Artie murmured.

“Here son, take some water.” Grant lifted Artie’s head and helped him take a drink. The effort exhausted him, and he sank back into Grant’s arms. Jim circled around the horse. He looked on in horror, knowing full well that he was the one who did this.

Trying to get his breath, Artie whispered, “Sir, James…they did something…to him…He didn’t…know it was me…you must tell…him…not his fault…He’ll blame…himself…please…tell him…”

“Son, I think you just told him yourself,” said Grant. He saw Jim bow his head at Artie’s words. Then he felt Artie sag back and knew he had passed out again. He extracted himself to allow the doctor and cavalry to move Gordon onto the buckboard. As the wagon slowly headed to the hospital, with a full escort, Grant turned his attention back to the one man remaining. Jim sat on a log staring into the flames of the fire. He ran his hands through his hair. He was, unfortunately, remembering everything he had done. He sighed deeply but did not say anything.

Grant sat down next to him. He needed to focus West on the task at hand. A task wrapped up in the guilt, that Grant realized must be eating up James West. That task was to find and neutralize the man who was truly responsible. Grant knew that Jim needed to focus his anger on the ones who had orchestrated this heinous night. Only then, could he purge the demons that were tormenting him.

“Jim, we need to find Trulane and anyone allied with him and make them pay. Make them pay dearly for what they’ve done. I could say you are too close to it. That you should recuse yourself. But I’m not going to. The way I see it, you are owed the chance at a retribution of your own. I trust, as I have rarely trusted before, that you will see justice is done. For it would be unbecoming for the President of the United States to perform these duties himself. However, know that you are acting as my agent and the bearer of the terrible sword of my wrath, as well as your own. Do me proud, Jim.”

James West raised his head and looked at Grant with a disturbingly calm visage.

“Thank you, General, I gratefully accept the mission. You’ll not see me again until it is done.”

With that, he saluted Grant, climbed onto Blackjack, and headed out to find Trulane.


	14. The Hunter

James West was not someone you wanted to have bearing a grudge against you. In fact, in all the cities and outlying frontiers, there were only a handful of outlaws who would elicit more fear. Colonel Trulane and his gang were now on the receiving end of Jim West’s undivided attentions.

After almost two weeks of investigating the wilderness area and some small towns near the campsite, Jim had come up empty. It was time to turn his attention back to Jefferson City. Before his mind and memories were altered, he had been staying at the City Hotel in the state capitol, awaiting Artemus’s arrival. Jim remembered checking in, but after that his memory grew foggy. Jim knew the men who brainwashed him were likely somewhere in the City and waiting for him to return.

In the past decade, Jefferson City had grown from a barely developed frontier town into a suitable location for the state capitol of Missouri. A number of fine buildings had been constructed, including a State House, the courthouse and many stylish private dwellings. A friend of Jim’s had commended the city, especially for other traveling bachelors. It was renowned for its dramatic performances and dancing parties held at the courthouse. Jim’s friend had also enthusiastically mentioned that there were numerous lovely women who resided there. Jim remembered the twinkle in Artie’s eyes when he told them about some of the fringe benefits, they might enjoy after they met with Grant. Things certainly hadn’t turned out that way.

The Pacific Railroad ran right alongside the town, as did the Missouri River, so Jim had many choices on how to enter the city. With Artie recuperating on the Wanderer, that immediately eliminated the train route. He decided the most unusual route would be best. He rode his horse to Dearing’s Landing about ten miles east of the city. He would come in by riverboat, on the “White Cloud”. It would be unexpected. Possibly, it would provide him some precious time to find them before they found him. He had turned Blackjack over to the horse handler. As he strode across the passenger gangplank, he felt a hand on his shoulder and instincts kicked in, as he spun around ready to fight. His expression changed from concern to a wide grin and he recognized none other than Joshua Cassidy. Josh still had the same boyish good looks, although now sporting the start of a beard and mustache.

“Whoa, there, Capt. West,” said Cassidy holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s just me, Joshua Cassidy.”

“Josh! It’s been a while. It’s damn good to see you.” Jim grabbed Josh’s hand to give it a vigorous shake. West’s expression changed from happiness to a strange pensive look as he struggled with how to describe his current circumstances to Joshua.

“Listen, I’m in the middle of a tangled-up mess right now. Why don’t you come with me, so I can tell you what’s going on?” Jim reflected for a moment, then added, “in fact, I could use your help.”

Joshua looked at Jim with a wry expression and tilted his head slightly to one side. “That’d be fine Captain West. I’ve got some news for you as well, and I might be a bit more informed of your situation than you think.”

Jim looked puzzled, but interested, as he ushered Joshua to the interior of the riverboat away from the other passengers. They sat down in the ship’s hold on some stacked lumber.

“By the way Josh, it’s Mr. West now. Or better yet, Jim. Tell me how you came to be here.”

“Okay, Captain… I mean Jim. That may take some getting used to. Let me see where to start. After the war, I was successful in moving my sister to Mount Holt, which is just about seven miles north of Jefferson City. As we were settling in here, General - I mean President Grant came to see me. He made me see how…”

“Let me guess - how you were needed by him and the country to join the Secret Service,” interrupted Jim.

Josh raised his eyebrows at Jim’s accurate guess, then chuckled. “I guess the man knew exactly what he wanted and wove the same epic tale to the lot of us.”

Jim sat back and silently appraised the young man sitting next to him. Josh had changed, in a good way. He bore an air of self-confidence that Jim liked. In fact, it reminded him of himself, in his younger days.

“Well, Josh, I couldn’t be happier that you are a part of our cadre. Who’s your partner?”

“That would be none other than Roy Oakley,” said Josh.

Jim visibly relaxed. He was not one to ask for help, and in most circumstances, he would not accept any, but these two men, whom he had fought with in the war, were welcome additions to his mission. They knew the history. Jim wouldn’t need to impress the direness of the situation on them. And Josh knew the area.

“Listen Josh, I don’t know how much they told you, but Colonel Trulane is back. He and his cohorts…well, let’s just say they got to me. I don’t remember much, but whatever they did to me… if they unleash it on a broader scale it would be devastating.”

Jim stared down at the wooden floor of the riverboat. How could he describe what he had done to Artie? At a loss for words for a lengthy explanation, he decided to keep it succinct.

“Josh, I almost killed Artie. Somehow, they twisted my mind, and I…”

Thankfully, Josh stepped in before he could continue.

“Jim, I’ve been trailing Trulane for the past six months. He’s gathered a small gang of men who have bought into his mad schemes. But most ominous is a fella he picked up in Georgia. He is a doctor if you could call him that. Seems more inclined to end life than save it. His name is Dr. Karl Pitkane. He did some terrible things at Andersonville, Jim, really terrible. One of his inventions was a gas he developed. It messes with people’s minds, twists their thoughts, and lets him control their actions. He and Trulane hooked up right after the war. As far as I can tell, Pitkane stumbled onto Trulane when he was fleeing Andersonville. When I finally caught up with them, he had started testing his diabolical gas.”

“Let me guess, Josh. He started his tests on people, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and that’s not all of it. Some of his test subjects seemed to have some sort of violent convulsions and died straightaway. With others, it seemed that the gas worked. There were a string of murder-suicides. People said that normally upstanding citizens went crazy. Killed family members, or committed heinous crimes, then when they snapped out of it and realized what they had done, well, they killed themselves.”

“I don’t doubt it Josh. After what I’ve just been through, if I had actually killed Artemus, I don’t know how I would live with myself.”

“Thank God, you didn’t kill him. From what I’ve seen, you must’ve had some resistance. I can’t imagine being in your position. This Pitkane is pure evil incarnate. When Trulane and his gang moved into a warehouse downtown, I alerted Grant immediately.”

“That’s why Grant wanted to meet with Artie and me,” observed Jim.

“Yes,” confirmed Josh. “I had briefed him. He immediately knew the danger to all of you. After what I heard about Trulane’s little battlefield speech in Petersburg, we all knew he’d be coming after both of you and eventually, President Grant as well.”

“Josh, his test with me was almost successful. We’ve got to put a stop to this. So, how do we find them?”

“Jim, you’re heading in the right direction. Jefferson City is where we need to go. Roy is already there, waiting for us. I’ve been trying to catch up with you for days. You should also know that Artemus kicked his doctor off the train and is intending to head here to help you.”

Jim shook his head, “Artie can be very obstinate, especially when it’s personal.”

“No doubt, but I’ve arranged some obstacles to his plans. First off, I’ve had the rail siding here in town blocked off. He won’t be able to pull into Jefferson City proper. The nearest he can get is Mount Holt. And that’s where my secret weapon is waiting.”

“Secret weapon?” Asked Jim.

“My sister. Cailin,” said Josh.

Jim had been about argue how no one could stop Artemus Gordon with any kind of weapon, but when he heard Josh say it was his sister, he laughed instead. And he was grateful that Josh realized they needed to keep Artie out of this, if possible.

“Josh, I hope your sister is up to the challenge, but even if she can just delay him, I’ll be more at ease. Corralling Artemus Gordon is no easy task.”

“Well, Jim, my sister has a mighty arsenal at her disposal; she’s attractive, intelligent and more stubborn than an ornery mule.”

“Mr. Gordon may be the orneriest mule your sister has ever met,” observed Jim.

Josh smiled knowingly, remembering the events of Spotsylvania, and just how stubborn Artie could be.

“Do you and Roy have any idea where we can find Trulane?” Jim asked, refocusing on the mission.

“I hope so. By now Roy should have gathered more information than when I left. We’ll meet up with him to get his report. But we also need a strategy. After all, what would Captain… I mean Mr. Gordon say if we just barged in there, fists flying, no plan, no finesse?” Josh nudged Jim, chuckling.

Jim could not help but laugh along. Artie had always reprimanded Jim’s tendency to rush into danger. He could only imagine what Artie would have said if he knew what Jim was thinking of doing before he bumped into Josh.

“All right, son, we’ll play this your way. What’s the plan?”


	15. Cailin

Cailin Cassidy watched, as Artemus Gordon gently eased himself off of the back of the private rail car on the siding at the Mount Holt depot. When her brother had told her that Agent Gordon might attempt to assist on the case, even with broken ribs and a knife wound on his leg, she had laughed at him in disbelief. Her laughter was sweet-sounding, like music, so Joshua never minded when she laughed at him.

“Joshua, you must be joking,” she had said, shaking her head of flowing, copper-red hair, “even if this man wanted to help, how could he?”

Josh looked at her and tried to imagine how to start even trying to describe Artemus Gordon to his sister. He opened his mouth several times to begin, but before any words came out, he closed it again. This caused his sister to laugh even harder.

“You look like a big catfish,” she chided him.

“Well Cailin, it’s like trying to describe a wisp of smoke. Capt. Gordon, he’s…well, he’s different.”

“He must be, if he’d try to come help when he’s so injured. I think I’m looking forward to meeting this Artemus Gordon.”

Joshua crossed over to his sister, holding out a photograph. “Here’s what he looks like. He’ll come in on a private rail car. You keep an eye out for him.”

He stepped back and gazed at his sister. She was every bit the beauty his mother had been. Her stunning hair and her sharp, penetrating green eyes were known to cause many of the local men to stop their work, as she walked by. Cailin seemed oblivious to the effect she had on them. Joshua knew of Capt. Gordon’s reputation with the ladies. He was uncertain how to instruct his sister to “distract” Artie.

Sensing his thoughts, Cailin shook her head at him.

“Joshua, I’m old enough now to be well aware of what you are finding so hard to say. I’ll find a way to do what you’ve asked, but I will neither be toyed with by a man, nor will I be uncouth.”

Joshua sighed in relief.

“I should not have worried. Thank you for your willingness to intervene in this matter. I fear Capt. Gordon will further injure himself. Despite his oddities, he did me a great service during the war - and indirectly, you as well. He and his partner are responsible for my career in the Secret Service and our settlement here in Mount Holt. We both owe them a great deal of gratitude.”

Cailin studied the picture Joshua had given her.

“I can see it in the picture.” She saw he was uncertain what she meant, so she elaborated. “I can see a kindness in his eyes.”

It was Joshua’s turn to shake his head and laugh. “That must be a woman’s gift, to see such things.”

He gathered his gun belt and moved to the door bidding her farewell. “Be careful sister. I may be gone for several days.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. He mounted his horse and as he started down the dirt trail from their house to the main road, she waved goodbye. She had stood in the doorway for a while, examining the picture in her hands, trying to gain some insight into the man she would have to save from harming himself. She resolved she would do whatever it took to help.

Now, she found herself standing in the depot across from the tracks, watching as the man in the picture struggled to get from the stairs of his train onto the depot landing at Mount Holt. He was dressed impeccably, which given his injuries, must have been an excruciating task. His dark green suit almost exactly matched the color of Cailin’s eyes. He tentatively placed an intricately carved cane with a silver eagle’s head handle onto the wooden decking. Once satisfied he had his footing, he began to move slowly across the platform toward the station house.

Cailin had prepared her ruse. She had gathered several, large, empty baskets from her Aunt and Uncle’s General Store. She balanced them precariously as she moved to intercept her target. It was not the most complicated diversion she could think of but had decided that keeping it simple would make it more believable.

As she approached him, she deliberately let the baskets slip from her arms. As she predicted, despite his injuries, Artemus Gordon moved as quickly as he could, to assist the “damsel in distress”. Letting his cane drop to the ground, he reached out an arm with a barely audible groan of pain, trying to help Cailin regain control of the errant items. His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment he stood there motionless and speechless, gazing at her, mesmerized.

“I… um… I’m not being much help, am I?”

Cailin was equally struck with Artie. His eyes caught her attention. The photo really didn’t do justice. His baritone voice tingled in her ears. They stood there in the middle of the platform staring at each other. Finally, snapping herself out of her reverie, Cailin found her voice.

“No, I mean, yes, I mean… You are helping. Moreover, I can see you are hurt. It was foolish of me to try to carry so many of these baskets at once.”

Artie steadied the last basket. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever do anything foolish,” he said, smiling at her.

“That’s charming of you to say, but you are flattering me more than I deserve.”

“I think it would be beyond my ability to flatter you too much, Miss…”

“My name is Cailin, Cailin Cassidy.”

Artemus noticed an empty baggage cart on the platform and pulling it over, he helped move the baskets onto the cart and started to reach for his cane. Cailin lithely sprung over, and reaching it first, moved to hand it to him.

“Your cane, Mister…”

“Gordon, Artemus Gordon.” He smiled again, tipping his hat as he reached to take the cane back. His hand brushed hers and they both looked at each other as if some electrical charge had just passed between them.

She broke the silence first, trying to focus on her task. “Are you staying in town?”

“Actually, I must get to Jefferson City, but the rail yards there are backed up and this was the nearest siding I could secure for a few days. Although, if you are any indication of the delights of Mount Holt, I would say this is no inconvenience at all.”

“So that is your private car?”

“Well, it is mine and my partner’s. But he is... away on business at the moment.” Cailin saw a fleeting look of concern and a frown crease his face.

“Mr. Gordon, I may be able to return your favor and assist you in securing transportation to Jefferson City. My family owns the local General Store, so we have wagons going into the capitol every few days. If you care to walk back to the store with me, I can check the schedule for you? Perhaps you would like some dinner as well? There is a small but lovely restaurant just down the street from the store.”

“Please call me Artemus,” he began, “and if it’s not too much trouble, I would definitely take you up on your offer. Dinner sounds lovely, and more so if you would join me? I’d count myself lucky beyond imagination to be blessed with your company for a while.”

Artie offered her his left arm and secured the cane in his right. Cailin pushed the cart full of baskets and they proceeded slowly across the rail platform.

Mount Holt was a small town. The rail station and its general geographic location made it a natural stopping point for travelers. As they walked, Cailin spoke of the history of the place, and peppered it with bits of local gossip. Artie listened happily. It gave him a chance to hear her melodic voice and also let him focus on walking, which was a painful chore for him. As she started into her family history, telling him about her Aunt and Uncle and how she came here with her brother after the war, Artie’s memory stirred, and he cocked his head to the side.

She noticed the quizzical expression. “Is something wrong, Mr. Gordon?”

“No, no… nothing is wrong. It’s just that you said your last name is Cassidy, and Mount Holt, and your brother…” He had stopped walking at this point and shot her a look of irritable amusement.

“I’ve been hoodwinked…and by the most beautiful swindler I’ve ever met.”

She felt her face flush and her Irish temper flared a bit, but seeing he wasn’t really angry, she laughed. This had the same effect on Artie as it did on Josh. He could not help but laugh along with her.

“You are Joshua Cassidy’s sister then?”

“Guilty as charged, Mr. Gordon. But I plead the best of intentions. You are in no shape to go to Jefferson City. Be forewarned, I am willing to take whatever measures are necessary to ensure you do no further harm to yourself. My brother is now working for the same ‘company’ as you. He had heard that you might try to reach Jefferson City. His ‘boss’ told him to stop you. Josh asked me to assist him. I can only concur that his ‘boss’ was correct. In fact, meeting you has only strengthened my resolve. I find you most intriguing, Artemus Gordon.”

Artie looked shocked at first, then flattered, but he had no doubt this fiery woman would try to keep him from getting to Jefferson City. Although, he could not deny that he quite liked the thought of spending more time with her, he would not let himself be so easily waylaid. He placed his hand over his heart.

“Miss Cassidy, I am at your mercy. But you did just tell me you would help me get to Jefferson City on one of your family’s wagons.”

She chastised herself. She had told him she would help. On top of that, she had divulged more than she intended to, but much as she had prepared, she was not ready for the almost instant attraction she felt for this man. It was as if she had known him for years, and she had let her guard down. Cailin was a woman of her word. She had not intended to get involved, only to delay him. Now her feelings were swirling like a windstorm. She decided that she would only be able to keep her word, both to Joshua and Artemus, if she could also keep an eye on Mr. Gordon. She stopped pushing the cart and unhooked her arm from his, which Artie immediately regretted.

“My mercy will do you no harm. I will keep my word to you, but on my terms and conditions. Should you harbor any thoughts of leaving here alone, you are not only mistaken, but foolhardy as well. I will accompany you to Jefferson City and you,” she pointed her finger at him, “will abide by my decisions concerning your health. Otherwise, you will find yourself spending a great deal of time here in Mount Holt, on your own. I will make certain of it.”

Artie held out his arms in a gesture of surrender. “Whoa there, Miss Cassidy! You must believe that I have no desire to stir you to anger. This situation is dangerous, and I would never willingly put you in danger. I would however, like to better make your acquaintance. Perhaps, a temporary truce? We are both on the same side, I think. Let’s see if we can work out something that will honor both of our intentions.”

A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he extended his hand. Cailin did not know whether to be irritated or amused. She decided to let the anger pass and smiling, she accepted his hand.

“A truce it is, Artemus.” She brushed a wayward lock of hair off his forehead. “We can discuss the particulars of our journey to Jefferson City over dinner. But be forewarned, I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you.”

He smiled a decidedly roguish grin. “Oh, I’m hoping you will keep more than just an eye on me.”


	16. Tender Mercies

The next morning Cailin was up early. She made some sandwiches and packed them, along with some apples into a picnic basket. She then selected some medical supplies from the General Store stocks. She also gathered a jar of a pain relief poultice she had created during the war. She wrapped up all of the medical supplies in a piece of cloth and set out to the train.

Artemus Gordon had spent the morning trying to manage his normal routine, washing, shaving and dressing. He had a lovely dinner with Cailin, but it had made for a long day. By the time he had returned to the train, he was exhausted and very sore. Undressing had been excruciating and he had not slept well. Although, when he did sleep, his dreams were filled with pleasant thoughts of a certain quick-witted and beautiful lady with piercing green eyes. He had managed to get his trousers and shirt on, but then he needed to take a break. He eased himself onto the couch in the front room.

A few minutes later, Cailin arrived. She knocked on the door to the private railcar and receiving no immediate answer, called out, “Artemus? Are you there?”

Artie realized how difficult it would be for him to stand up and let her in, so reluctantly, and regretting he was being so ungentlemanly, he called out for her to enter.

As she stepped through the doorway, she took his breath away. She wore a cream-colored dress with deep green lace trim that matched her eyes. She looked radiant.

Cailin’s eyes swept around the well-appointed railcar. It was fancier than the nicest hotel in Jefferson City.

“Oh, Artemus! This is lovely.” She ran her hand along the desk and then set down the basket and her medical bundle.

As her gaze shifted to Artemus, a look of worry settled on her face. He was pale, discomforted and clearly in pain. She quickly moved to the couch and sat down next to him.

“Artemus, please let me tend to your wounds. I am quite a good nurse.” She threw him a mischievous look. “I promise, I’ll be very gentle.”

As tempting as her suggestion was, he did not want to be treated like an invalid. “I don’t want you to fuss over me. I’ll be fine.” He was more abrupt than he intended.

Cailin ignored him. She went over and gathered the medical supplies, then moved the desk chair so she could sit down in front of him. He started to protest and waved his arm to try to get her to stop, but she took his hand in hers.

“It is easy to see you are not ‘fine’ and tending to your injuries is not ‘fussing’. Please let me help you.”

The touch of her hand quieted him. She reached up with her other hand and brushed that persistently errant lock of hair from his forehead. Although he was in a great deal of pain, he was only dimly aware of it, as other sensations pushed to the forefront of his thoughts.

“You have quite a bedside manner, Miss Cassidy. And may I add that you look absolutely ravishing,” he said softly, in his low baritone.

Cailin said nothing, but her sparkling green eyes locked with his brown ones. She released his hand and turned her attention to slowly unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes never left hers. She slowed as she reached the last button. He moved his hand to gently cup her face. He inhaled her sweet lavender scent. She leaned into him and ran her fingers through his thick hair. She separated from him only enough to see his face. When he tilted his head, she turned hers to meet him. Her lips connected with his. She felt as if the motion of everything else around them had stopped. It was if nothing else existed except the two of them. She could feel the pounding of his heart synchronized with hers. Separating to take a slow, stuttered breath, she then returned her mouth to his. After several blissful moments, she pulled away, resting her head on his broad shoulder.

“Artemus, I’m going to conjecture that this assignment is evolving beyond either of our expectations.”

“Cailin, my dear, you have a gift for understatement.” Artemus said, trying to hide his face, as he winced in pain.

“As much as I would dearly love to resume that kiss, you must allow me to attend to your injuries. I can see they are troubling you.”

She helped him lean forward, so she could remove the old bandages wrapped around his injured ribs. She frowned at the deep purplish bruises. Opening her medical kit, she took out the tin of pain relief poultice that she had concocted. Artie tilted his head back, closed his eyes and clinched his jaw, but he did not make a sound. She began gently applying the poultice. Her feather light touch made the process less painful than Artie had feared. As she finished, the effects had already dulled his aching chest.

She then removed the new bandages from her kit and began re-wrapping him. She knew he must be in agony but marveled at his tolerance for the pain. As she expertly wound the supporting fabric around his torso, she began to softly sing. Her voice soothed him even more than the poultice. Gradually, his breathing evened out and grew less labored.

When she finished tying off the ends of the fabric, she leaned back and placed her hand on his chest. “There, I am finished. Shall we take a look at that leg now?”

He opened his eyes and placed his hand over hers. “You have a beautiful singing voice. What is that song? I don’t know that I’ve heard it before.”

“It is a lullaby called, ‘Slumber my Darling’. As we fled my parent’s home, I volunteered to care for wounded men during the war. I found this song always seemed to settle them and give them comfort.”

“That must have been arduous. I am only too aware of the terrible injuries that many men suffered during the war. You are an exceedingly kind soul, Miss Cassidy.”

“It was not easy, but my unease was nothing compared to the pain and sacrifice of those men. I feel blessed that I could be of any assistance to them.”

“And I feel blessed to have met you. The past few weeks have been… difficult for me. I would never have dared to dream that someone such as you would come into my life.”

Cailin was surprised by his candor. But then, many things about him surprised her. He was certainly a complicated and unusual person. He was also a person whom she had quite quickly come to care about, very deeply.

“Let’s take a look at that leg wound, then once we’ve cleaned and redressed that, I can unpack our lunch.”

“As you wish, Clara Barton,” he gently teased her, as he allowed her to help him stand up. He went in back to change into a robe, while she prepared the clean dressings and medicine to tend to his leg.


	17. The Fine Art of Disguise

The next few days were a mixture of nursing, romancing, planning and teaching. The teaching revolved around educating Cailin about the art of disguise. They had decided their subterfuge would be impersonating an Irish professor and his assistant on a speaking tour of the United States.

Artie started off by showing her how he could alter his appearance, his age, his nationality, and his demeanor. She laughed at some of his characters, while other personas frightened her. His transformations were so complete, that she found it hard to equate the man she knew as Artemus Gordon, with the myriad of people that he became. He was, in some sense, all of these people, yet he was none of them.

Since their alter-egos were from Ireland, Cailin would not need to hide her accent. Artie would portray an older academian, which would help hide his injuries. He chose gray pork-chop sideburns and thick spectacles. He coached Cailin to change her hair, gave her some eyeglasses and taught her some make-up techniques that would slightly change her facial features. As they worked side-by-side preparing their disguises, Artie regaled her with stories from his life in the theatre. She chided him when he put on the sideburns and spoke in a respectable Irish accent. Her sweet laughter filled the sitting room on the Wanderer.

Once they finished rehearsing, Artemus carefully put back the fake sideburns, accessories and make-up kits. Cailin sat on the sofa, watching him. She was thinking back to the scant information Joshua had told her about how he had met Jim and Artie. She knew Artemus had disguised himself when he helped Josh, and ultimately her as well. Other than that, Joshua hardly ever spoke of the war. 

“Artemus, Josh has shared scarce little of the story. How did you and your partner meet my brother during the war?”

He stopped putting his things away. He bent his head down and furrowed his brow. Cailin sensed this was a more difficult conversation than she had intended. After a few seconds of silent thought, he looked up again.

“I suppose you have every right to know the whole story. Especially now that you will be involved in this hopefully final chapter.”

“If you prefer not to discuss it… I did not mean to raise any ghosts from the past.”

“No, no my dear, the ghosts have already taken flight,” said Artie softly.

“Artemus, you are speaking in riddles.”

He stood up with a heavy sigh. Turning to the bar behind him, he poured two generous snifters of a fine Napoleonic brandy, and handed one to her.

“You have every right to know… how I know Joshua, why I am injured and why I am here. I will tell you the whole convoluted story.”

He touched a silencing finger to her lips.

“I will do this on one condition.”

“What might that condition be, Mr. Gordon.”

“The condition is, that once you have heard the whole story, if you still are set on accompanying me - and I’m certain you will be, you will follow my instructions, without disagreement.”

Cailin made a face that indicated she was not so inclined to agree with this condition. But before she could protest, Artie continued his explanation.

“Cailin, I am a trained field agent. You are not. Once I have told you the history of this situation, you will fully understand the risk, and my considerable concern for your safety. I hope you understand, I could not bear the thought of any harm coming to you on my account. Even more so after these last few days.”

Cailin swirled the brandy around the bottom of the glass. He was being blatantly honest… about the situation and more importantly, about his feelings for her. Though part of her mind protested against the rules this man was imposing on her, there was now a new part of her mind that loved him all the more for his thoughtfulness. She took a sip of the brandy and let the sweet, smooth fire flow down her throat.

“Mr. Artemus Gordon, I have rarely let a man dictate conditions to me. However, in your case, I am willing to make an exception. I’d like to hear the history, so I know what I’m getting into and what you are asking of me.”

With a curt nod of his head, Artemus proceeded to tell her the story of how he met Joshua and how Colonel Trulane became enmeshed in that narrative. There were many parts of the story that were difficult for him to discuss, but he told the truth in as much detail as he thought needed, for Cailin to get a clear picture of the adversary they faced.

Cailin sipped the brandy and listened, mostly in silence. She had a few questions, but she tried to absorb the tale as Artie wove it with minimal interruption. She easily saw how his life in the theatre enhanced his storytelling skills. She was dismayed, but not shocked by Trulane’s behavior. She had seen men on both sides that took the events of the war personally and to extremes. Some would never release their festering hatreds. It was tragic that these types never thought enough blood had been shed, never saw the moral fault in slavery and never allowed the country to truly be whole again. She despised it but had seen enough to understand it existed and probably always would.

The personal vendetta Trulane had launched against Artemus, James and President Grant was shocking. He was obviously insane. The complexity, the years of scheming…all pointed to a person consumed by his desire for revenge. When Artie finished the story with his recent and traumatic encounter with Jim, Cailin shuddered.

“How could your partner, a man you described as like a brother to you… how could he do this to you?”

“There are many ways to control and influence the mind. Jim and I are both, unfortunately, familiar with some. In the past, Jim has been very resistant, but there are drugs, chemicals, that can break through even the most resilient defenses. I believe Trulane has found someone who created such a substance and used it to great effect on Jim.”

Artie set his glass down and walked over to Cailin. She rose from the sofa and stood facing him. He took her hand in his.

“You must understand Cailin, James West and I have forged an incredible partnership by working together on some of the most difficult cases the Service has faced. We must constantly trust each other… our lives depend on that trust. If I know Jim, he is guilt-ridden and angry, so much so that I am worried he will act rashly. That is why I must get to Jefferson City. That, and the fact that I as well, have a score to settle with Colonel Trulane and whoever is helping him.”

“I am certain Joshua realized this. It must be why he asked me to distract you.”

Artemus’s eyes twinkled and he pulled her close to him.

“You, my dear, are much more than a distraction to me.”

His lips brushed hers as he pulled her into a long, passionate kiss.

Artie reluctantly withdrew and held Cailin by the shoulders.

“You can see how dangerous Trulane is. I know I will never convince you to stay here and let me proceed alone. I accept it would be better for you to accompany me according to our plan, rather than have you follow me on your own, but please…please assure me that you will heed my instructions. Even if I ask you to leave me.”

“You want me to trust you.”

Artie nodded in agreement. She realized his concern. Perhaps he foresaw that this whole escapade could turn out badly. She knew that he was willing to risk his own life. However, he could not risk hers. That would make her a liability. And if he was worried about her, it shifted his focus. She could unwittingly endanger him, as well as herself.

“I believe I understand why you ask this. I do trust you, though it is not a thing that comes easily to me. It is strange, but from the first moment I saw your photograph, I felt connected to you. I told Josh there was a kindness in your eyes. That is certainly true, but the photo does not do justice to the depth of that kindness.”

Cailin saw him blush at the compliment and smiled, then turned pensive as she continued her explanation.

“You know my family history enough to realize trust has not played a big part in my life… except for my trust in Joshua, which is unassailable. When I was younger, there was only Joshua - he was like a beacon for me. He made so many sacrifices. I know he loves me deeply and I will always treasure him, but there is a hardness there. I certainly understand why. I had him to protect me. He had no one. You seem much like him in your fierce conviction to right the wrongs of the world… to see justice is served. But you seem to have maintained a joie de vivre that I fear he has lost.”

Artie gingerly lifted an arm and placed it over her shoulder, pulling her closer to him. He wiped a single tear from her cheek.

“Don’t give up on him, Cailin. Joshua may yet regain his hope. He is still young and has had a great deal thrust upon him. I have great admiration for how he has handled his circumstances so far. He reminds me of Jim when we first met. I think he will regain what was taken from him. Just give him some time. And as for your generous words about me…well, I am after all an actor at heart. There are times when I wonder myself, how much of what I show the world is a facade.”

His voice trailed off, lost in his own thoughts.

“Artemus?” Cailin asked quietly.

“Mmm-hmmm…” He replied.

“Kiss me.”

He somewhat disconcertedly met her eyes. Then deciding he would be a fool not to do as she asked, he took her in his arms and poured everything he could into that kiss.


	18. The Boys Are Back in Town

The White Cloud docked on Lohman’s Landing at Jefferson City. Once Jim and Josh had retrieved their horses, they stealthily wove among the pallets of merchandise, lumber and passengers, eager to get out of sight as quickly as possible. Joshua led them through side streets to some stables adjacent to the back entrance of the Union Hotel. They got the horses settled, then crossed a small yard and entered through the back of the hotel.

“Jim, the proprietor is a good friend of mine. Formerly known as Major Charles B. Maus, but now he just goes by Charlie. As you can tell by the hotel’s name, he was and is loyal to the Union and the government. He can assist us and give us a room, so we have somewhere in town to organize ourselves. I can get Roy to meet us here and brief us on what he’s found so far.”

After a quick, thorough sweeping glance to make sure they were not followed, Jim nodded and stepped in the back entrance after Josh. They tipped their hats in unison to the ladies in the kitchen. They peeked around the door to make sure the lobby was empty. Seeing it was, they quickly approached the front desk. Charlie, who was reading a newspaper, looked up at the newcomers. Joshua nodded with a turn of his neck to indicate he wanted to go to the back room. Charlie folded his paper and beaconed the two men to his office.

Charles Maus was a middle-aged, bearded man with a hooked nose and deep, blue eyes. The almost imperceptible scar and the lines etched on his face reflected the arduous battles he had fought during the war. He sat on the edge of his desk and gestured for Jim and Josh to take a seat in the guest chairs.

“So Joshua, what daring adventure has you sulking in through the back door of my fine establishment this time?”

“Charlie, this here is my associate, James West.” Jim shook Charlie’s extended hand. “He and I are in the same line of work. Look, we’ve found some real bad apples who’ve set-up shop somewhere in town. They’re Confederates who don’t think the war ever ended. They are trying to launch a vendetta against Jim here, and his partner. Once they’ve done that, we think their next target is President Grant. We’re fixing’ to put a stop to that, but we need your help.”

Charles Maus straightened his back and flitted a concerned glance back and forth between the two men. His consternation deepened the lines etched in his face.

“Well, boys, it’s been a few years, but I think I still know how to tangle with some Rebels. What do you need from me Josh?”

“Three things, Charlie. First, I need you to help me, discreetly, get a message to Roy.”

Josh grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a quick note, then folded it tightly.

“Then we need a couple of adjoining rooms so the three of us have a base of operations. We’ll get you reimbursed, of course, but we want to keep our names off the register. Also, we already stabled our horses out back.”

Charlie squinted and looked up from the notes he was taking.

“That’s only two things Josh. What’s the third?”

Josh shrugged with a boyish smile.

“Well, Charlie, we are starving, and I couldn’t help but notice as we walked through the kitchen…”

Charlie laughed out loud, shaking his head.

“Joshua, you and that Irish Stew! I should just charge you a monthly fee for it. All right, I’ll have some brought up to your room. Mr. West, I’m assuming you’d like some as well?”

“Call me Jim, and I don’t see how I could refuse. “

Charlie nodded and stuck his head out of his office. He waved down a young man from the lobby and motioned him to join them.

“This is my nephew, David. He’s trustworthy as they come.”

Josh handed the note to the boy and asked him to track down Roy Oakley and deliver it. The boy was off in a flash. Charlie went to the room key cabinet on the wall and grabbed some keys. He checked that no one else was around, then led Josh and Jim up to two rooms at the end of a hallway.

“I’m putting you in 201 and 202. These rooms are near a back staircase. You can use it to enter and leave as you please without having to go through the lobby. The stairs land right next to the kitchen, so Josh can also keep an eye on the supplies of stew,” chided Charlie.

Jim and Josh settled into their rooms and Josh brought up their saddle bags. A few moments later, one of the kitchen staff delivered a tray with the food and beer to Jim’s room, where Josh joined him. They had just finished eating, when there was a knock at the door. Jim drew his gun, Josh carefully opened the door and seeing it was Roy, he quickly ushered him into the room. Roy saw Jim and broke into a huge grin.

“It’s been too long James, and the circumstances are rotten, but it’s sure good to see you again.”

“Roy Oakley!” Jim held him by the shoulders getting a good look at his old friend. “You old war dog! It’s good to see you too.”

“Watch it with the ‘old’ part Jim,” scolded Roy with a smile.

The three men cleared the plates and pulled a third chair around the small circular table. Roy reached into his jacket and pulled out a map of town and newspaper clippings about the renovations of the warehouse, that Trulane was using as his headquarters. He also had some pictures of some of the men in Trulane’s gang. He spread everything out on the table and began briefing Jim and Josh on the information he had gathered so far.

“Trulane and his men moved into Jefferson City about six months ago. There are still Confederate sympathizers in the area, some of them are quite wealthy. We believe one of them helped him get established here. There is a warehouse about a mile away. It was abandoned for years after a fire had pretty much gutted it. With that outside funding, Trulane bought it and has been fixing it up. There were only a handful of people outside of Trulane’s men who worked on the interior reconstruction. After the project finished, they either disappeared or went mad. Some of the more superstitious people around here thought the building was haunted, and Trulane only encouraged that line of thinking.”

Roy stopped to point out the warehouse on the map and tried to gauge if Jim was remembering anything. Seeing Jim was frustrated, but handling the information as well as could be expected, he continued.

“Jim, this guy has really gone underground. The building is like a fortress. Only one ground level door and one loading dock. All are sealed up like a bank vault. There is only one person who regularly leaves the warehouse and interacts with anyone outside. It’s Trulane’s second in command, Samuel Prichett. He had started ordering supplies from a handful of local businesses. Most of them are likely sympathizers, but one of them was likely picked because he is the only supplier anywhere near here. Prichett is buying chemicals, Jim. Lord only knows what they are using them for. And they can only get them from Dan Grady. Dan’s a good person. I’ve known him for a while. He’s not involved, I’m sure of it. I think he can help us.”

“Roy, you’ve done a great job on this. I think I’ve been on the receiving end of some of those chemicals…but I still cannot remember any details. Look, if you trust this guy, it seems like he’s our only shot.” Jim stated.

“There are some added bonuses of meeting with him. He’s got three lovely daughters, Annabelle, Clara and Eleanor. I thought we could inquire if they’d join us at the Social Ball in a few days, as well.”

Jim chuckled and raised his eyebrows.

“You have been very thorough, Roy. Sounds like we should arrange a meeting with Dan Grady as soon as we can.”


	19. Great Minds Think Alike

The next morning, Artie and Cailin hitched a ride on the General Store wagon down from Mount Holt into Jefferson City. After making some discreet inquiries at the Cole County Recorder’s Office, Artie discovered Trulane, under the business name of T&P Industries, was co-owner of a warehouse just outside of town. He rejoined Cailin, who had been doing her own research.

“Artemus, it looks like your hunch was correct. Trulane has collaborated with some sort of doctor. If they have been creating some kind of drug, as you suspect, then there is only one place in town where they would be buying those types of supplies.”

Extending his arm to her, they stepped onto the plank board sidewalk.

“Well, then let’s pay that establishment a visit, shall we?”

As they made their way through the business district of Jefferson City, Artie took in the buzz of a city in the midst of a tremendous growth spurt. The streets were filled with carts, horses and people moving the goods and raw materials to fuel that growth. After walking a few blocks, they turned into a side street. Artie saw a small, heavily stocked, but well-organized store. The sign hanging above the door indicated, “Grady’s Chemicals - Pure and Commercial - for Scientific and Technical Purposes”.

Cailin nodded to Artie, indicating that this was the place and they stepped in together. The bell on the door jingled to signal their arrival. Artemus transformed himself into the persona of a self-assured Irish professor.

“Pardon me sir, I am Professor Seamus Whelan, and this is my assistant, Kathleen Brennan. We are here on a most important lecture tour and are speaking at several of your state’s most auspicious universities.”

Artemus strode around the shop, while Cailin offered the Professor’s card to Dan Grady.

“So, yer from Ireland are ye? That’s where my parents are from. What part of the fair isle do you hail from?” Dan Grady asked as he joined Professor Whelan by a display case.

Artie didn’t miss a beat, he replied brusquely to steer the conversation away from details.

“I’m from Dublin, and much though I would enjoy speaking of our fair Erin, I’m afraid I simply do not have the time. We are on such a tight schedule. I am hoping you can render some assistance to us.”

“Aye, what would you be needing?” Grady was a bit put off, but still eager to make a sale.

“I need to know who your most frequent customers are. I am offering all of the local research chemists a chance to speak with me at the university. I wish to highlight their work and perform some demonstrations, for which I will purchase all of the materials needed, from you, of course.”

“Of course,” said Grady rubbing his chin. “I’ve got two or three fellows who might be the type you are looking for, but I’ll warn you about one of them. He’s an odd one and I’d watch myself around him if I were you.”

Artie turned to look Grady in the eye. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he buys some compounds that one would expect an apothecary to buy, but then some of the other chemicals are just plain dangerous, some even poisonous. He’s never told me what he does with them. In fact, I’ve only met him once. After that, he sent his man, Prichett, to place his orders. It is all very hush-hush. I couldn’t tell you what he concocts with the materials he buys from me, but he pays full price and in cash, so I don’t ask many questions.”

Just then a young woman emerged from behind a curtain that led to the back office. Her auburn hair was pulled back, revealing her high cheekbones and crystal, blue eyes. She looked up from the letters she was reading, a bit startled to see her father with such unusual customers. She took a second look at Cailin, thinking she recognized her, but unable to place her, she discounted it.

“Father, I’m sorry to interrupt. I didn’t realize you were with customers.”

Dan Grady motioned for her to join them.

“No need to apologize. Please join us. This is my daughter, Clara.”

Artemus doffed his hat to her and Cailin nodded quickly, then proceeded to examine the wooden floor with great interest.

“Clara, this is Professor Whelan, and his assistant, Miss Brennan. They’ve come all the way from Ireland for a lecture tour. I was just telling them about Prichett and Trulane.”

Clara shivered at those names. “Oh, those two make me nervous, but not half as much as Dr. Pitkane.”

“And who is he?” Artie asked.

“He’d be the scientific brains behind Trulane. But why would ye be wanting anything to do with that lot?” Clara asked.

Dan explained Professor Whelan’s request. She nodded and turned to go back to the office, giving one last warning over her shoulder. “Do what ye must, but as my father said, I’d watch my back around Trulane and especially around that Dr. Pitkane.”

Artie watched her graceful figure disappear behind the curtain, then turned to face Dan Grady.

“I appreciate your advice about these people, but perhaps I could make a better assessment if I could meet them myself.”

“Well, if yer mind is set to it, you’ll find him at the warehouse up off Linn Street. You can’t miss it. Big brick building set apart from anything else. The facade is marked with the lettering, ’T&P Industries’. When you get back from your visit, I’ll have the other two addresses for you.”

Artie and Cailin thanked him and took their leave of Dan Grady. They headed back to the center of town to hire a carriage and did not notice the wagon pulling up to the store as they turned a corner and went on their way.

Jim, Joshua and Roy jumped down off the carriage, as they came to a stop in front of Dan’s store. Roy took the lead as the trio entered the building. He waved a greeting to Dan, who stopped copying the addresses from his records and reached over to vigorously shake Roy’s hand.

“Roy, it’s good to see you. It’s been a while. What have ye been up to?”

Roy returned the handshake and pointed to Jim and Josh, who were waiting a few steps back.

“Hello, Dan, good to see you too. I’m working on a case here in town. That’s why I’ve stopped in, with two of my associates, James West and Joshua Cassidy.”

The men nodded to each other, then Dan closed his record book and stepped around the counter.

“So what brings you and yer friends to my humble establishment today?”

Roy indicated the back room with a nod of his head.

“Dan, we need to talk… preferably somewhere private, about one of your customers, a Colonel or Mr. Trulane. Whatever he’s going by these days.” 

Dan raised his eyebrows and shrugged but motioned for them to follow him to the back.

“Come on, we can talk in my office. There sure have been a peck of strange requests about that man today.”

“How’s that, Dan?” Roy asked as they filed past the chemicals and lab equipment.

Dan led them into his private office and closed the door. He then told the men about Professor Seamus Whelan and Kathleen Brennan.

Jim rolled his eyes and clapped Joshua on the back.

“Our two charges have both gone rogue, it would seem. Not that I didn’t think this would happen, mind you.”

“James, I’m only part-way surprised,” said Joshua. “Knowing Capt. Gordon, I kinda expected he’d figure out a way to get here, but I guess the only thing I’m surprised about is Cailin.”

Dan Grady was looking at them with a confused expression when Clara knocked on his office door.

“What are you gentlemen talking about?” Dan asked, as he opened the door and let Clara join them. She brought in a tray with some coffee and biscuits. Jim filled him in on the suspected identities of the earlier visitors.

“Mr. Grady, those two visitors were none other than my partner, Artemus Gordon, and Joshua’s sister, Cailin Cassidy.”

Clara smiled and shook her head.

“I knew I recognized her; I just couldn’t place her. She had her hair done differently and the glasses. Plus, she looked older. It was a quite effective deception. Father, I heard voices and so took it upon myself to bring some refreshments.”

Joshua helped Clara with the tray and seeing Dan’s still puzzled expression, he elaborated. “Professor Seamus Whelan is actually Jim’s partner, fellow Secret Service agent and master of disguise, Artemus Gordon. Kathleen Brennan, or Cailin Cassidy, is my sister. We live up in Mount Holt, which is where Cailin was supposed to keep Mr. Gordon. There are some…. reasons we’d like to keep him out of this action.”

Jim grimaced and was silent for a moment, then he shook his head. When he spoke, he was all business.

“We’ll just have to get to the bad guys first. They already have a head start on us, so we’ll need to get going as soon as possible.”

Dan nodded in agreement and rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he crossed over to get a cup of coffee.

“Look, I think I have an idea on how to get you boys into the T&P warehouse. Clara, would you fetch your sisters and the T&P Industries order book and meet us up front?”

“Certainly, father,” Clara excused herself.

A few minutes later, the three sisters and the four men assembled near the cash register in the front of the store. Roy discreetly nudged Jim with his elbow and whispered, “I told you they were pretty.”

After introductions were made, Dan pulled open the order book. There was a delivery slated for tomorrow, but Clara and Eleanor confirmed that everything was already in stock and just needed to be loaded on the wagon. Annabelle, the youngest daughter, and her father took Josh to fetch the Grady store wagon and some workers to load it.

Jim watched Clara as she studied the order book. She noticed him watching her and smiled though she continued to study the book. Jim leaned in close to her as she ran her finger along the items on the order.

“You help your father with the business?” He asked.

“Yes, Mr. West, I am quite good with numbers and I enjoy helping with the family business.” Her eyes locked with his and Jim responded with his signature disarming smile.

“I never had much aptitude for numbers, unless it was counting the steps in a waltz.”

Blushing slightly, Clara turned away.

“What a coincidence, Mr. West. There is a social ball at the courthouse next weekend. Will you still be in town?”

Jim feigned surprise, but it was obvious to Clara that he already knew this bit of information.

“Even if I wasn’t going to be, I think I will make sure to adjust my schedule, if you would accompany me, that is.”

“I’d be delighted, with father’s permission, of course.”

Roy had been observing this exchange from behind the cash register across the room. He glanced up at Eleanor. He had known her for a while but was not the charmer that Jim was, and his shyness had stopped him from even speaking to her. But Jim’s success steeled his resolve. He turned to Eleanor fumbling with his hat in his hands.

“I… um, I don’t suppose that you… umm, that you might care to have me…. well, escort you to the ball, would you?”

Eleanor took his hand.

“Roy Oakley, I’ve been hoping you would ask me to any number of church socials for ages. I’d love to have you escort me to the ball.”

Finishing off the trio, Josh and Anabelle walked in just then, talking about the ball and getting her father’s permission for Josh to escort her. Josh chuckled as he deduced the other fellows had found their dance partners as well.

“Fellas, now that we have our dance cards filled up, don’t you think we ought to get back to work.”

Jim grabbed his hat, bowed to the ladies, and walked to the door.

“Josh, I’m loath to admit it, but you are quite right.”

Roy opened his kit bag and put a wig & mustache on Jim. He was the only one of them who Trulane’s gang might recognize. It wasn’t the most sophisticated disguise. Certainly not up to Artie’s standards, but it would have to do. They didn’t have time for anything more elaborate. Dan Grady pulled his wagon around and gave the paperwork to Josh.

“Just tell them that the goods they ordered came in early and that Dr. Pitkane is waiting for it. None of them boys up at T&P Industries wants to get on his bad side for delaying a shipment.”

The three men jumped onboard. Roy transferred a small trunk from his wagon to Grady’s and took the driver’s seat with Josh next to him. Jim settled in the back to stay better hidden, though he wasn’t sure it was any safer as he glanced around at the chemicals surrounding him. With a parting wave to Dan and his girls, Roy carefully eased the fully loaded wagon into the main street traffic and slowly headed east toward T&P Industries.


	20. Into the Lair

Meanwhile, having arrived at their destination, Artie paid the driver and told him not to wait. He and Cailin exited the carriage and walked toward the front of the building. There was a dock door, that was sealed shut and looked quite solid. Next to that a short flight of stairs led to a pedestrian door with a bell.

“Now we enter the lair of the enemy,” said Artemus softly. “Are you ready, Cailin?”

She could see he was in his element, acting the part, but on a stage of reality, where the stakes were quite high. He exuded an air of confidence. Something she could not muster. She was simply terrified, now that they were actually doing the thing they had talked about, but she resolved not to let her fears get the best of her.

“Yes, Professor,” she replied, keeping in character. “Let us proceed.”

She stepped ahead of Artie and on reaching the landing, rang the bell. After a moment, a tall lanky man opened the door. He looked over Cailin and Artie very thoroughly. He had been told to be on the lookout for James West, and obviously, these two were not him. Still, he eyed them suspiciously. No one was expected today.

“Do you have some business here?” He asked brusquely.

Artie let the persona of Professor Seamus Whelan take over again. “Quite correct you are, my good man.” Artie motioned for Cailin to hand one of his cards to the wary henchman.

“I realize I am not expected, however it is most important that I speak to Dr. Pitkane. I have a tremendous opportunity for him to showcase his work to the academic world. Would you be so good as to announce me?”

The man hesitated. He had been told not to disturb Dr. Pitkane - ever. Artemus was about to launch into a lengthy entreat, when Cailin spoke up.

“Professor Whelan is respected around the world. He has travelled all the way from Dublin, Ireland. I’m sure Dr. Pitkane would be dismayed to learn he had missed a chance to meet the Professor. All we ask is that you let him know we are here. We are on a very tight schedule, so we haven’t much time to wait.”

Even in disguise, Cailin’s voice held a charm that worked wonders on the henchman’s demeanor. He shook his head, but thought that these two posed no harm, and he didn’t want to disappoint the lady.

“I might just get my head handed to me for this, but I’ll at least ask for you, though you’ll most likely be disappointed. You two can wait in the office while I go upstairs and check for you.”

He motioned to some chairs in a sparsely furnished receiving office and then unlocked a door leading further into the building and took his leave of them. After a few minutes, Artie went over to the door and cracked it open to get a look down the hallway. He saw several side doors and at the end of the hallway, around the corner, a staircase leading to the upper floors. Hearing the henchman return, he quickly and silently closed the door and returned to his seat.

“Sorry mam, professor… Dr. Pitkane sends his regrets, but he cannot break away from his work right now,” explained the henchman.

“Ah, well,” said Artie, “I can understand the scientist who does not wish to abandon his work. If I could ask one more small favor of you, I’ll leave the name of the hotel I will be staying at for the next few days. If the good doctor has a change of heart, he can contact me there. Could you make sure he gets this?”

“Yes, Professor Whelan, I’ll take it to him straight away.”

“Thank you so very much.”

Artie had Cailin write a local hotel on the back of his card and handed it to the man.

“Now Miss Brennan, I’m afraid we will have to walk a bit to get back to town, but I’m sure the fresh air will do us good.”

Cailin was puzzled as to why they were leaving but followed him as he walked outside and headed down a road leading back to town. The henchman watched them leave until he lost sight of them behind some trees. Satisfied that they were gone, he closed and locked the door.

Artie put a gentle hold on Cailin’s arm once they were hidden behind the trees.

“There’s no front window, and if that guard is as obedient as he seems, he is taking that note to Pitkane. We must move quickly.”

“But he locked that door, Artemus, I heard him.” Cailin followed but was unsure what they were doing.

“Yes, it is a bit of a nuisance, but you can’t be too cautious these days. Who knows who might try to break into this building?”

Artie raised his eyebrows with a devious smile, as he slid his lock pick from his lapel. Cailin’s eyes widened and she watched, bemused as Artie made quick work of picking the lock. Sure enough, the henchman was not in the receiving office and the door to the hallway was opened slightly. Slipping through it, Artie checked the first of three doors on the right, and it was locked. He quickly moved further down the hallway. The second door on the right opened and revealed a broom closet.

“Perfect! In you go my dear. Although, not the best spot for our first date, I admit,” he said with a shrug.

He heard the door at the top of the stairs click open and he quickly sidled in behind her and closed the door. They waited in silence as the guard stepped down the stairs and back to the receiving office.

Artie whispered in her ear. “And now, we wait.”

It sent tingles down her spine, though she was not sure if it was his voice, her fear or both.

At the same time, the Grady delivery wagon was nearing the massive three story brick building of T&P Industries. Roy spotted the loading dock and pulled the wagon near it. Josh grabbed the paperwork and rang the bell next to the receiving door. As Josh was led inside, Jim noticed a shed just behind the warehouse.

“Hey, Roy, look over there. Seems like some kind of storage shed. We might be able to use that as a staging area.”

Roy nodded and jumped off the wagon. He grabbed the kit bag he had brought with him.

“I think I’ll mosey over there, check it out and if it’s useable, I’ll leave a few things we might need later.”

He quickly jogged over to the shed, picked the lock, and hid the satchel behind some empty crates. As he exited the shed, he noticed an office window on the backside of the building. Although up on the second story, it had a small balcony. As he walked back to the wagon, he calculated the amount of rope he’d need to get a grappling hook up there. He had made such quick work of his side trip, that Trulane’s men hadn’t even opened the receiving door by the time he got back.

A few moments later, Josh came back out and the loading door opened. Two of Trulane’s men helped unload the wagon. Jim stayed near the horses and kept his face turned away. He noticed one of the men studying them intently, but the transfer of the shipment was uneventful. Josh got the paperwork signed off and then the three of them got in the wagon and headed back toward town. Once they had turned a corner and were out of sight of the warehouse, Roy halted the wagon and explained to them about the balcony he had seen.

He opened the trunk he had stashed under the seat and pulled out a coil of rope and a grappling hook. He then began counting off the lengths and satisfied he had enough to reach the balcony, tied one end to the hook.

Jim removed his disguise, tossing it in the wagon bed. “Roy, I’ll need your help getting the explosives set up.”

“Sure thing, Jim, I left most of what we need in the shed, and we can take the rest with us now.” Roy stuffed some fuses and timers into his bag. He handed Josh the hook and rope.

“I’ll go in through the balcony and reconnoiter. Then I‘ll meet you boys back in the shed and we can figure out our next move. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, don’t leave me hangin’ in there.”

The three men nodded at each other, and headed off, circling around several other buildings, so they could get to the shed without crossing the front of the T&P warehouse. Jim and Roy split off to the shed. Josh positioned himself under the balcony and with a few quick twirls to get some momentum, he deftly tossed the grappling hook. It caught the balcony railing, and he pulled the rope taut. After a few tugs to make sure it would bear his weight, he began to inch up the side of the building. Reaching the top, he pulled himself up and over the balcony railing. He left the grappling hook in place but tied it off more securely. Then he pulled up the rope and coiled it in the corner of the balcony, so it would not be seen from below. He peered through the glass doors into the office. Seeing no one inside, he made quick work of the door lock and disappeared into the building.

Josh moved stealthily across the room and softly opened the door a crack. It was a deserted hallway. There were several closed doors and just below the ceiling hung an assortment of pipes, valves and pressure gauges. He slowly moved into the hallway, inching his way along the wall. He had cleared the hallway and just turned the corner to the right, when he heard voices from behind the door nearest him. He quickly glanced around for an escape route. Just in front of him was a large ventilation shaft. He pried open the grill, hoisted himself inside, and pulled it back into place.

Once there he realized this would be a more enigmatic way to get through the warehouse, so he began to crawl through the ductwork further into the building. He reached a “Y” intersection where the ductwork split. Josh chose the left-hand side which lead toward the interior of the building. He pulled himself forward with his arms until he reached the end of the shaft.

He peered through the grating and found himself looking into a vast room. It was open from the ground floor to the roof line of the third story. There was only one entrance to this space that he could see. A wooden staircase led from a second-floor access door down to ground level.

Aside from the staircase there were only three other things occupying the huge room. The most prominent was a collection of equipment that looked like a giant copper distillery, which took up most of the floor space. The pipes Josh had seen in the hallway came in at the ceiling and joined up to this distillery gear.

Opposite from Josh’s vantage point, there was a set of stairs leading up to a small mezzanine area, with some sort of control room and office built atop it and secured to the wall.

The final structure was the most peculiar. It looked like an oversized prison cell, except where bars would normally be located, this room had a thick glass panel that spanned the entire front face. The walls were incredibly thick, Josh guessed at least three feet of concrete. On the sidewall nearest him, he saw what looked like a bank vault door. The pipes that exited the distillery equipment connected to the ceiling of this structure. On the inside of the cell there were rows of vents on the ceiling. Iron shackles with chains were ominously embedded in the back wall. There were also two speaker horns, like those on a phonograph, hung from the interior front corners, facing the wall with the chains.

Josh silently whistled to himself. Whatever this place was, he could feel the taint of evil. It hung in the air along with the acrid scent of chemicals. Something diabolical was happening here.

From inside the broom closet, Artie heard the large loading dock doors being unbolted and opened. Realizing the guard would be occupied for a while, he whispered to Cailin. “This is our chance. We need to get upstairs and see what is going on here.” He leaned in and snuck a quick kiss.

“For luck,” he said softly.

Cailin returned the kiss and nodded in agreement. Artie cracked open the closet door and scanned the hallway. It was empty. They climbed the staircase, pausing at the door on the upper landing. Artie hesitated for just a moment, thinking he heard something, but when only silence followed, he eased this door open. No one was about, so he ushered Cailin in and closed the door behind him.

“I swear, I thought I heard someone in this hallway,” he murmured, half to himself, half to Cailin. “Anyway, it’s all clear now, shall we proceed?”

Cautiously turning a corner, they crept down a long corridor that terminated in a dead end with a door emblazoned with the lettering “LAB - Access Restricted”.

He was about to pick the lock when he heard voices and footfalls on what must have been a staircase behind the door.

“Cailin, quickly, back the way we came,” he whispered, urgently.

They moved as quickly as they could without making too much noise, but Artie realized they would not clear the hallway before they were spotted. He remembered seeing a vent grill on their way in and he rushed to remove it. It was surprisingly loose and came off easily.

“This is the part where you do what I say,” he said calmly, as he lifted her up into the shaft. She was about to protest, but he silenced her with a gentle finger to her lips.

“You promised me,” he said quietly.

She reluctantly nodded and moved further back into the shaft. He hurriedly replaced the grill. Then with a wistful look back at her, he nonchalantly strode toward the lab door, making sure he would not be caught too near the vent. As he approached it, the door opened, and two men emerged. At first startled, they stared at him for a second, amazed that anyone got into the building undetected. But they quickly recovered and drew their weapons, shouting at him. Artemus shrugged and raised his hands.

Nearby, hidden in the ductwork, Joshua heard the shouts and of even greater concern, he heard noises behind him in the shaft. He was able to draw his pistol, but the space was too confining to turn around, so he backed out the way he came in. He was near the entrance when a surprisingly familiar, whispering voice chastised him. “Joshua! Those shoes need a cobbler’s attention. They’re falling apart.”

“Cailin! How did you get here? And how on earth did you know it was me?”

“I came here with Artemus. Trulane’s men just captured him. And I knew it was you because of that hole in the sole of your shoe. It looks just like a rabbit.”

“Oh.” Josh said flatly. He was not sure whether to be angry, embarrassed, concerned or all three. “Is there anyone in the hallway right now?”

“Not that I can see.”

“Good, open the grill and jump down. I’ll be right behind you.”

Once they were both out of the vent shaft, Josh replaced the grill and grabbed Cailin’s hand. They headed back to the office where Josh had come in and stepped quickly out onto the balcony. He checked the grappling hook and tossed the rope over the side.

“Remember how we used to go rock climbing when we were kids?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It’ll be just like that. Don’t look down. Take your time. I’ll cover you.”

Cailin made her way down the rope and Josh quickly followed. He then pointed to the shed and they ran over and through the door, which was opened by someone within.


	21. You'll Do

The two men on either side of Artie had iron grips around each of his arms. They hustled him down the stairs as Trulane sauntered over to the group.

“So, Mr. Gordon, I trust your injuries are healing well?” he asked in his slow, southern drawl.

“Your concern for my health and well-being is truly a comfort to me,” said Artie with an air of nonchalance.

“I admit that I hoped Mr. West would have been a bit more effective in ending your miserable life. I expected him to return to my little fun house, not you.”

“Perhaps he was not his usual self. Very ungentlemanly of him to have put you out. I’m afraid I’ll just have to do.”

“Yes, Mr. Gordon, you indeed, will just have to do.” Trulane reached over and pulled off the fake sideburns and glasses, tossing them aside. “I’d like to introduce you to someone, my associate, Dr. Pitkane.”

A beady-eyed man in a lab coat moved forward. He looked at Artie as if inspecting a side of beef. He impatiently, twirled a magnifying glass between his thumb and forefinger.

“He’s a bit heavier. I’ll have to adjust the dosage,” said Pitkane.

Trulane smirked, then turned to his men.

“Get him ready. Make sure you remove his jacket, vest and belt. Check him thoroughly for weapons and lock picks. Even his boots. Once you are sure he has no tricks up his sleeves or anywhere else, take him to the cell. Let Dr. Pitkane know when you have finished.”

The men followed their instructions and left none of Artie’s gadgets or tools available to him. Trulane and Pitkane ascended the mezzanine stairs and entered the control room as they discussed the turn of events.

Opening the vaulted door to the cell, they shoved Artie inside and motioned with their guns for him to back up against the wall. Then, while one man covered him, the other clapped and locked the shackles onto Artie’s wrists. They left the room, throwing Artie a look that seemed almost like pity.

Artie tested the chains, which were unfortunately well-secured to the wall. The length of them only allowed him to just barely touch the glass wall in front of him. He realized he could get nowhere near the vaulted door. He scanned his surroundings, which was a very quick exercise. The room was devoid of any furnishings. He noticed the speakers. These made sense, as the cell was quite soundproof. He had seen a worker drop a large metal valve just outside his cell and had not heard a thing. As his eyes swept across the ceiling, he had an awfully bad feeling about the multitude of vent pipes feeding into the room.

As he was pondering this, a raspy voice came through the speaker. Pitkane was starting his experiment.

“Mr. Gordon. I have heard you are also a man of science. Allow me to brief you on today’s experiment, of which you will be such a crucial participant. I have developed a gaseous chemical compound that enables me to amplify and intensify my control of the mind of my subject. I can make people see things…believe things, which otherwise they would shun as complete falsehoods. I can destroy them.”

Artie looked around and realize there was no way for him to talk back, so he resigned himself to listen to this madman’s soliloquy.

“I’m going to take you back to 1864 Mr. - or should I say Capt. Gordon. We will revisit the terrible things you did in Spotsylvania.”

“I only recall doing my duty, however unpleasant some of it may have been,” muttered Artie, knowing no one else could hear him.

“I’ve made a recording which I will begin playing for you. It iterates the details of your litany of misdeeds.”

Artie heard the recording begin to play through the speakers. He had enough experience to recognize the start of the mind control techniques. He mentally braced himself to withstand that attack.

He heard a hiss, that sounded like the boiler safety valve on the Wanderer. Then a curtain of opaque white gas began to drift down from the vents in the ceiling. He tried pulling futilely at the chains. The gas stung his throat and eyes. He started to cough, violently, but he could not very well stop breathing. He felt a wave of dizziness and sank to his knees. Looking up, he saw Trulane and Pitkane laughing at him. He now knew how they had broken James West.

The voice on the speaker issued forth with harsh judgements.

“You are responsible for all of their blood, you led them into hell and you were a coward, you killed the innocent, your own men died because of your ineptitude, you are responsible…” The edicts droned on and on.

Artie careened forward onto his hands and knees. He was only half-conscious as the chamber filled with the gas and the words implanted themselves into his drugged brain.

Joshua took Cailin into the shed at a full run. They tumbled into the door and Cailin found herself caught from falling by a most handsome man with crystal-blue eyes.

“Miss Cassidy, I presume?” he asked with a quick smile as he helped her regain her balance.

“Yes, and please call me Cailin. You must be James West,” she observed. Artemus told me much about you. I’m hoping you are all he says, because those diabolical maniacs have captured him. He let them, so that he could assure my safety.” She desperately scanned the men’s faces, wondering why they were just standing there.

Joshua stepped next to her. “We’ll take it from here Cailin. It would be best if you waited somewhere safer.”

She eyed her brother with and angry and exasperated expression. “Josh, I can’t just leave him in there…I’ve…we…Artemus and I…” She fumbled for how to best explain that she had done exactly what he warned her not to do. She had fallen in love with Artemus.

Jim started chuckling and everyone turned to him, confusion written on their faces. Jim fingered the brim of his hat.

“Gentlemen, my partner has obviously affected Cailin with his irresistible charms. Please correct me if I am misspeaking.”

Cailin nodded indicating that Jim was correct. She glanced at her brother. She dreaded his response to this news.

“Joshua, it isn’t what you think. He is not blasé about this. We care for each other.”

Joshua was about to reprimand her, but then shook his head and laughed, breaking the tension.

“No, I am not really dismayed by this turn of events. Though he would have people think otherwise, he isn’t really a scoundrel. He’s honestly a man of strong integrity. I’m certain he cares for you. It’s more a question of me accommodating the idea that he might end up as my brother-in-law.”

Trapped in the false narrative of his mind, Artemus Gordon was standing on a shimmering, smoke-filled battlefield. Around him lay the barely living bodies of all the men in his company. Mangled, crying masses of tangled flesh - they groped at his boots and legs. Hollow eyes glared at him from bloodied faces. They stared at him in anger and disbelief.

“Why did you lead us here?”

“You left us…you ran like a coward…”

“I’m dying, Captain!”

“You said we would be safe.”

“Help us!”

They admonished him, pointing disjointed, accusing fingers. He tried to extract his legs but they would not release their gripping skeletal fingers.

“No…no…Jacob, Remy, Albert…it…it wasn’t like this. We made it out. We only lost Hopper…” Artemus twisted and turned, brushing his legs to free himself from these ghostly apparitions.

The pounding voice in his head kept telling him that this was all his fault…that this vision was the truth, and his memories were false. He tried to not believe it. He could not believe it. Yet, the men looked so real. Why could he not focus his thoughts? He grabbed his head as a searing bolt of pain ripped through his skull.

“Noooo…no this isn’t right…can’t be right…”

Nevertheless, the voice kept telling him it was. Jacob Harris, one of his closest friends, materialized out of the mist. He stared at Artie, disgust and disappointment written on his face.

“Jacob… please, tell them this isn’t real.”

Jacob spat at him. He used a broken and bleeding arm to push Artie away. “Get away from me! Don’t you remember the day I died? Of course not, you weren’t there were you? Since you couldn’t make it, you wouldn’t know that I cried out for you…that I screamed your name as artillery ripped my body to pieces. You should have been by my side. We would have died together, brothers in arms. That wasn’t to be. I died alone, afraid. You had some social engagement with the higher-ranking officers. The boys and me, we just weren’t worth your time, were we? You are a retch, the worst kind! Why don’t you go to hell, Gordon? Why don’t you crawl back to that theatre you love so much while we all get blown to bits?”

“Jacob? That’s…no, that’s not what happened…” Artie begged him, reaching out to the figure before him, but Jacob seemed to dissolve, just as he touched him.

Back in the storage shed, Jim spoke up.

“We’ve got to get back in there.”

Roy Oakley agreed. “Jim, listen, I’ve got a couple of new, special vests from headquarters. Supposedly, they can stop a bullet.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Oh, they can definitely stop a bullet. Those vests are Artie’s design. It sure took Richmond enough time to get them into production, but I’m glad you’ve brought them.”

“We are really outnumbered here, and the interior is like a maze,” Joshua said. “I may kick myself for saying this, but I think we could use Cailin’s help. She’s been inside and knows the layout from the main entrance. I spent most of my time in the ventilation system.”

Jim and Roy frowned, obviously not caring too much for that idea.

“No fellas, listen. If Jim and Cailin put on the vests and let themselves get caught, then Roy and I can sneak into the ventilation system with the explosives. We can plant them throughout the building without being seen. Split up like that, we might be able to overwhelm them.”

Roy was still shaking his head “no,” but Jim looked at Cailin and saw the fierce resolve in her eyes. He knew Artie would have tried to keep her out of this in the first place. The fact he had let her accompany him meant that he trusted her. The fact Cailin had left him, even though it seemed obvious, that she deeply regretted it, meant she had followed Artemus’s instructions when it was necessary.

“Cailin,” he asked quietly, “I’m sure Artie told you his rule about following instructions. And that he only did so because he wanted to protect you, not because he doubted your abilities.”

“Yes, Mr. West, he and I had several lengthy discussions about that. I can assure you, I realize my role. I just want to help…he may be hurt. I’m trained as a nurse. Please let me accompany you.”

Jim did a quick visual check with Roy and Joshua, and receiving both of their nods of approval, he proceeded to help Cailin with the bulletproof vest. Then he covered it with her cloak so it could not be seen. He then put his own vest on and pulled his jacket over it.

“Gentlemen and lady…the time has come. Let’s find these devils and give them their due.”


	22. End Games

Roy and Joshua moved quickly, scrabbling up the rope, into the office and through the hall to access the ventilation system. Before they climbed in, Roy nudged Joshua. “Hey, look at those pipes along the wall and ceiling,” he said.

“Yeah, I saw them when I was in here earlier. They run all though the building,” Josh said.

“Whatever those big valves do, I bet we are better off if they are not working so well. I’m going to stick a little of my explosive putty surprise on them. Cover me.”

Josh drew his gun as Roy pushed the putty around a few of the valves. He dressed the fuses and after winding a small timing device, he tucked it between the wall and one of the larger pipes, so it was completely hidden. He finished up and Josh holstered his gun.

Josh proceeded to the vent shaft and pried open the vent. Roy followed him in and secured the grating back in place behind him.

Jim and Cailin waited a few minutes then moved around the building toward the receiving entrance.

Jim gained ingress by picking the lock on the receiving door. They slipped into the receiving office, which was empty. Cailin led Jim through and upstairs. Jim opened the door and cautiously entered the second-floor hallway. He protectively held Cailin’s hand as they skirted along the far wall.

Roy and Josh inched their way to the intersection. Josh again took the left-hand branch and signaled Roy to take the right-hand side. Roy soon came across more pipes and placed some additional explosives on them, as he proceeded. He and Josh both reached the end of their respective vent shafts. What they saw as they gazed down into the warehouse shocked them.

Artemus Gordon was losing his battle to keep his sanity. He was no longer certain of what he was remembering versus what was being forced into his mind. He gasped for more oxygen, but only inhaled more of the burning malicious gas. He was trapped in a shifting memory of the horrors of the war, but in this new reality he was solely responsible for an unending barrage of suffering and agonizing death. He writhed on the floor. His head felt like it was ripping apart. All the while, the constantly flowing, ethereal white veil of gas cascaded into the cell.

Jim and Cailin continued cautiously down the hallway. When they heard a door open, Jim shrugged to Cailin. Getting caught would get them to Trulane faster, so he did not even try to escape. He deliberately scrapped his heel on the floor and upon hearing the noise, two of Trulane’s men entered the hallway with their guns drawn.

“Hold up there, you two,” said the taller of the two men. He checked them for weapons and finding none, waved his gun and motioned them to follow his cohort.

The men escorted them to the entrance to the lab, down the stairs and onto the ground floor of the warehouse. Trulane saw them bringing West down the stairs from his vantage point in the mezzanine office. He smiled and moved to quickly meet them at the base of the stairs.

“Mr. West, how kind of you to join us again. We, unfortunately, could not wait for you. You may not remember much of your stay here, but I’m sure you can ask Mr. Gordon about the accommodations…except he seems a tad indisposed at the moment,” said Trulane as he directed their attention to the cell.

Jim’s eyebrows furrowed and a strange, glazed expression of seething anger crept into his eyes. He stared at his partner and friend, laid out on the floor, living some sort of fabricated terror. Vague memories of his stint in this same cell flickered through his mind. He swallowed an overwhelming urge to jump the guards and rip out Trulane’s throat. He held it in check, because he needed to give Josh and Roy enough time to guarantee their success.

“Trulane, you’re good at talking tough,” said Jim, “especially when you’ve got your lackeys to back you up. Too bad you haven’t got the guts for hand-to-hand combat. I guess you must be afraid of losing.”

Trulane grimaced and his face reddened in disgust. “As if your General Grant didn’t use the same strategy in the war. Throw enough bodies at a battle and decimate the enemy. It wasn’t strategy, it was slaughter.”

He stepped close to Jim and grabbed the front of his jacket. “Still, overwhelming force does have its advantages Mr. West,” he said. Jim prayed he didn’t feel the thick, bullet-resistant vest underneath, but Trulane was more focused on dragging Jim over to the cell than in investigating his clothing.

“I think now is a good time to decimate some of my enemies, Mr. West. Let’s see how your friend deals with some unexpected intrusions on his journey into madness, shall we,” spat Trulane.

Jim looked worried and Cailin, whose eyes had been transfixed on Artemus since they entered the room, looked absolutely terrified.

Trulane instructed Dr. Pitkane to raise the oxygen levels in the cell and rouse Mr. Gordon. The doctor did as he was told.

Artie stirred, finally getting something besides the doctor’s gas into his lungs. He gulped the clean air. The fog of gas dispersed enough for him to see through the glass window more clearly. He frowned when he recognized Jim and Cailin.

Trulane took a small tube microphone from the outside wall of the cell and spoke into it, “Mr. Gordon, I believe you know these two people?”

Artie nodded and unsteadily stood up. He advanced until the chains on his wrists snapped him back. He reached out toward the window. His vision was still blurred, and he fought to discern whether this was real or another hallucination.

Trulane sneered and said, “I imagine you are having difficulty figuring out of this is real or not. I can assure you it is most real. You, Mr. Gordon are solely and completely responsible for what is about to happen.”

Artie looked bewildered and concerned. Trulane walked up close to the glass. He turned his back to Jim and Cailin, so they could not see what he was doing. He held up a gun, making sure Artie fully comprehended what he intended. He slowly loaded the firearm, holding up each bullet to make sure Artie saw it. Then he locked the cylinder in place with a sharp click and told two of his men to bring Jim West over.

Jim heard the gun being locked and loaded, even if he couldn’t see it. He knew he could not give anything away, especially with the success of the mission and Cailin’s safety still in question. But it was brutally difficult, and Jim feared the effect this gambit would have on Artemus in his current condition.

Trulane aimed the gun at Jim. Artie shakily straightened up, frantically grabbing the chains, trying to rip them from the brackets holding them to the wall. Jim could not hear him but saw he was mouthing the word “no” over and over again.

Jim thought to himself, “I’m so sorry my friend, but I swear I’ll get you out of here.”

Then the gun fired. Artie stopped struggling against the chains, almost as if he had been the one who was shot. He stood motionless. He watched Jim drop to the floor. Then he looked at Trulane, anger and sadness etched across every inch of his face. He asked only one question, “why?”

Then to Artie’s increasing horror, Trulane motioned for Cailin to be brought over.

Trulane told him, “Mr. Gordon, remember, this is your fault. Her blood will stain your soul.”

Artie snapped out of his paralysis. He labored against his restraints with every ounce of strength he had. The muscles in his neck tensed, his wrists bloodied as he pulled against the shackles. He screamed at Trulane and Pitkane, though only he heard his words.

Cailin could not stand it. This was too much. Whatever happened next, she could not continue this deception. She was about to tell Artie it was all a ruse, when the bullet struck her vest.

The impact shocked her. An expression of surprise crossed her face. She did not think it would hurt so much. She wondered if the vest had failed. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness. Her head hit the glass as she collapsed against the front facade of the cell.

On the other side, Artemus strained to reach her. His fingertips brushed the glass. His eyes filled with tears. He fell with her, watching her copper-colored hair splay across the glass. Separated by the transparent barrier, he was unable to touch her. “Noooo…,” he screamed out, sobbing.

Pitkane, wanting to continue his experiment after the interruption, turned on the gas again. As the malevolent waterfall once again cascaded down upon Artemus, he collapsed.

Josh had seen enough. Hoping Roy had finished placing the explosives, he pulled out his specially rigged Derringer. He inserted a metal arrow with a thin metal rope, into the barrel. He then kicked the vent grate out of the way. Some of the men looked up as the grate fell and clattered as it hit some of the distillery equipment. Josh fired across the room, and the barbed arrow embedded itself in a wooden ceiling beam. He attached a metal rod to the end of the wire, which served as a handle, and swung out from the shaft in a wide arc, taking out three of Trulane’s men as he descended.

A moment later, Roy removed the grate on his side, tied some rope around the pipes and threw it out and slid down to the floor of the warehouse. Just then the first group of explosive charges began to go off. The shockwaves reverberated through the building.

Jim jumped to his feet. His captors stared, as a man they thought dead, rose up and plowed into Trulane and Pritchett like a battering ram. One of Trulane’s men aimed his weapon, taking a bead on Jim. Roy saw him and quickly fired, hitting the mark, then started a firefight with the rest of Trulane’s men, who started pouring onto the stairs.

Josh started fighting two of the three men he had knocked over. The third man stepped in and pushed Josh up against one of the copper vessels. Josh saw a steam valve feeding into the tank and spun the wheel, diverting the flow into the room. It caught his assailants full in the face. The three men staggered back, screaming, and covering their burnt features.

Jim pulled Trulane into a hammer-hold and rammed him full speed into the glass wall. A resounding thud echoed across the room. Trulane crumpled into a heap next to Cailin. He then threw a swift uppercut to Pritchett’s chin, knocking him out. Jim spun around looking for someone else to pummel. His eyes locked with Josh’s as they both looked over to the control room where Pitkane stared wide-eyed at the battle taking place. Pitkane ran to the door, trying to block it, but Jim and Josh simultaneously rushed the door, breaking it down by sheer force.

Jim grabbed Pitkane and cocked his fist. “You’ve got three seconds to stop that gas before I turn you into a human punching bag.”

Pitkane stammered pathetically. “No…no need for that Mr. West. I’ll fully cooperate. No…no need for violence!”

Pitkane moved some dials and switches and it appeared the gas was slowing, but then suddenly, Pitkane slammed open the main control to its maximum output.

Smiling gleefully, Pitkane turned to Josh and Jim. “You are too late,” he gloated, “your friend will never survive this dosage.”

Josh was about to pull the trigger on his pistol and rid the world of this vile man, when a huge explosion shook the building. The charges Roy had placed on the chemical pipes were detonating. The combination of volatile substances and the explosives amplified the destructive force. Plaster fell from the ceiling. The bookshelves shook loose their contents and crashed to the floor. Pitkane tried to make a break for the door, but one of the solid oak filing cabinets crashed over on top of him pinning his legs. As the ceiling began to collapse, Jim and Josh tried to extract him, but the cabinet was not budging.

Then some glass chemical containers crashed to the floor and as their contents mingled, a rancid, greenish smoke started to fill the cramped room. Josh covered his face as Jim shook his head “no”. He grabbed Josh’s arm and they both staggered out. Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the whole mezzanine collapsed and caught fire. As they jumped out of the way, they saw Pitkane was buried in the rubble and flames. His screams echoed through the room, then suddenly stopped.

Another series of blasts ripped through the vent ducts and the fire spread to other parts of the building. Roy had dealt with the men from the gunfight and had moved over to the cell. He placed a ring of his explosives around the edge of the glass window. Gently moving Cailin away, he lit the fuse. The charges went off in a counterclockwise sequence, outlining the frame of the window. Spider-web cracks appeared, and for a split second the fractured glass hung in its frame before both illusion and glass shattered, crashing to the floor.

Roy rushed into the cell, waving his hand to dissipate the gas. He still had to hold his handkerchief to his mouth to keep from choking. He quickly picked the locks on the shackles binding Artie’s wrists. Jim and Josh joined him. Realizing they did not have much time to get out of the crumbling building, Jim grabbed Artie. Josh carried his sister. Roy placed his last charge on the exterior wall and blew a hole in the side of the building, wide enough for them to get out. He dragged Trulane out after everyone else had exited. The conflagration started to consume the whole building. The horrifying screams of those trapped inside, echoed into the night air, until the last whimpering cry faded to silence.

As they stumbled into the receiving yard, they were met by a small contingent of townspeople, led by Dan Grady and Charles Maus. Josh’s aunt and uncle had come down from Mount Holt and along with the sheriff, the fire crew and a smattering of town’s people they were working to get the fire out. Dan Grady and Josh told them the gas could be dangerous and moved the people farther back. Just then, another series of violent explosions rocked the building and fully engulfed it in a blazing inferno. Someone brought over a wagon and Artie and Cailin were taken to the local hospital. The sheriff had Trulane draped, unceremoniously over a horse. Three of his deputies took Trulane and the few of his men who had escaped the burning building, to the warden of the nearby penitentiary.

Jim, Josh and Roy spent the next few hours helping to put out the fire. When it finally died down and they were certain that it was under control, they found Josh’s aunt and uncle, along with Dan Grady, handing out food and blankets to the others who were fighting the fire.

“Uncle,” Josh said, “we’ve done as much as we could to help. I think the fire crew has things under control. We’d like to get to the hospital.”

Dan jumped down from the back of the General Store wagon and pointed across the way, at his store wagon.

“You boys can use that. I’ll get a ride home with your uncle.”

“Thanks Mr. Grady, much appreciated,” said Josh, already running toward the wagon. Jim and Roy followed him and the three men headed for the local hospital.


	23. Healing

Josh, sooty and sweaty from battling the fire, barreled into his sister’s room. The doctor and nurses glared at him as he skidded to a stop.

“Doc, is she alright?” Joshua asked breathlessly.

“She’ll be fine, Joshua,” Doc Adams said firmly but gently. He had known Josh and Cailin since they had moved to Mount Holt. He also knew just how worried Josh must be.

“That new-fangled vest she was wearing really did work. I wouldn’t believe it, if I had not seen it with my own eyes.”

“But, I saw her…she fell down…I feared it didn’t work, that she had…” Josh could not bring himself to say aloud that he thought she had died, that the vest had failed.

Doc Adams excused the nurse and put a fatherly arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Son, the gun was fired at close range. It impacted the vest right above her breastbone. I think the force of that impact knocked your sister back and she must’ve hit her head on something. Whatever the cause, she was knocked unconscious - but that is all. She’ll have one heck of a headache and bruise when she wakes up, but otherwise, she is absolutely fine.”

Josh looked at the sleeping form of his sister, and deeply exhaled. He let the pent up fear and tension drain from his body. Holding her hand, he gently kissed her forehead.

“Cailin, my dear sister,” he said quietly, “sleep well and know that I will be watching over you. I always have and I always will.”

Josh thanked Doc Adams and stepped into the corridor, where he bumped into Jim. Jim was as dirty and exhausted as Josh. He was trying to find where they had taken Artie. Doc Adams pointed down the hall.

“They took him to a private ward,” he said with a frown.

Jim and Josh sped to the back of the building. It was much quieter here and there were far fewer people. Jim began to fear the worst. As they turned a corner, they saw a group of doctor’s conferring in the hallway. The eldest of the three held up a hand to stop them from entering the room.

“Hold on there, fellas. You can’t go in there just yet,” he said.

Josh saw Jim was about to go ballistic.

“Look Doc, we need to know…how’s he doing?” Josh asked.

The doctor excused the others and looked over the top of his spectacles.

“I will not lie to you gentlemen. He’s not in good shape.”

He saw both men tense up and quickly added, “it’s not physical injury. While he is pretty beat up, those are older injuries, and they are healing well enough. His life is not in danger.”

Jim could guess what was wrong, but he still had to ask. “What is wrong then doctor?”

“He’s unconscious and we cannot wake him. He is having terrible, debilitating nightmares. It is as if he is living through them. We have had to restrain him to keep him from thrashing about and further injuring himself.”

“Doctor,” Jim gave the man a piercing stare, “he is my partner…and friend. I want to see him.”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded and opened the door. Jim rushed into the room. The curtains were open, and the first light of dawn was turning the sky a lighter shade of blue. There was a huge oak tree outside, and Jim could hear the songbirds begin their morning serenade. As peaceful as the scene was, his partner was the polar opposite.

Artemus was restrained to the bed and Jim could see him struggling. A thin sheen of sweat covered his deeply furrowed brow. He uttered slurred phrases in his sleep.

“No…. I’m… I am so sorry…”

“Please forgive me.”

“Oh, god, please make it stop…”

Jim stepped closer to the bed. He pulled over a chair and sat down.

“Artemus,” he said, “I know you probably cannot hear me, but I’m right here buddy. I know what that gas can do. I know how real whatever you are seeing must be to you. All I can tell you is ‘fight it, fight it as hard as you have ever fought anything.’ It is not real. You were a capable and honorable leader during the war. Your men have great admiration for you, as do I. Your actions saved countless lives. They still do. I mean how many times have you rescued me, for god’s sake. I am alive and well. So is Cailin. Don’t give up, my friend.”

Jim gently patted his partner’s shoulder and quietly left the room. He held his hat by the brim, spinning the edge in his fingers. He joined Josh and the doctor.

“Well, Doc, what can we do to help?” Jim asked.

“The best we can do now is to wait and to pray.”

During the next few days, Jim, Josh, and Roy took turns visiting the hospital. Artie’s condition was not changing much, but a bright spot for all of them was when Cailin woke up.

Joshua had insisted on waiting to tell her about Artie until after the doctor had examined her. As Doc Adams finished up, he turned to Josh on his way out.

“Son, I think it’s time to let her know what is going on. She’s asking about Mr. Gordon every five minutes, for Pete’s sake.”

Joshua nodded and went over to his sister’s bed.

“Cailin, I’m so glad to see you awake, and not too badly hurt. You gave me quite a scare.”

“Josh,” she said gently, “I swear I’m fine. I’m sorry to have caused you so much worry.”

“Listen, now that I know you are okay, I need to speak with you about Mr. Gordon.”

Cailin sat up, alert and worried. “What is wrong, Josh?”

“He is alive, Cailin,” he explained, “in fact, he is in no physical danger at all.”

Cailin closed her eyes, whispering a silent prayer of thanks for that.

“How bad are the effects of the gas?” She asked.

“He hasn’t fully woken up yet. He’ll have a few moments of clarity. They manage to get him to eat, or drink a bit of water, but he never really escapes the nightmares. Jim has been with him most of the time. It’s all Roy can do to convince him to occasionally go back to the train to eat or sleep.”

Cailin started to push herself out of bed. Josh admonished her to stay put. She turned to him, her green eyes blazing with a fury Josh had never seen there before.

“Joshua Cassidy, I’m a full-grown woman. The man I have come to love dearly, is suffering. What would you have me do? You of all people, should understand. All those years you would come to me, always by my side. And even when we were apart, I knew you were doing everything you could to secure our safety. Now Artemus needs me. Please do not try to stop me.”

Josh stopped trying to push her back onto the bed. He looked at her and saw, not the little girl he had so fiercely protected as a child, but a grown woman, one he admired even if he didn’t completely understand.

“Cailin, I will not try to stop you, but if you hold on a minute, it would be a heap easier for me to help you.”

She had been ready to argue with him, thinking he would not understand, but he surprised her.

“Thank you, Joshua. I’ll admit I am a bit dizzy,” she said softly.

He helped her sit up on the edge of the bed and told her to wait while he got a wheelchair. He helped get her settled and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

“Ready?” He asked.

“As much as I’ll ever be,” she replied.

Josh pushed the chair toward Artie’s room.

“I must warn you. He is restrained to the bed, so he doesn’t hurt himself as he struggles against his nightmare demons,” Josh explained.

Cailin did not say a word as Josh wheeled her into Artie’s room. Jim was sound asleep on a chair in the corner. Cailin held her fingers to her lips, letting Josh know not to wake him on her account.

“Please wheel me closer to him,” she asked in a hushed tone.

Josh positioned her right next to the bed and leaned down, rubbing her shoulders.

“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be waiting right outside the door,” he whispered.

Cailin looked in disgust at the restraints, but given how he was straining and wrestling about, it was probably for the best. She ran her hand along his arm, feeling the tightness of his clinched muscles.

“My darling, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I am right here. I am right beside you,” she said quietly.

His face projected the outward signs of the internal battle he was fighting. He stirred under her touch and his eyes flickered open. He furrowed his brow, as he stared blankly at the pattern in the tin ceiling.

She caressed the side of his face, not daring to speak. He looked so lost. She fought back her tears. She did not want to upset him with her fear.

He swallowed hard and grimaced at the pain in his parched throat.

Cailin took the glass of water from his bedside and gently lifted his head so he could drink. He took a few long sips, then she softly laid his head back on the pillow.

Still staring straight up at the ceiling, he said, “I didn’t think it would hurt so much,” speaking so softly she was not certain she heard him correctly.

“You didn’t think what would hurt so much?” She asked, caressing his hand.

“Dying,” he murmured.

“Oh Artemus, you are not dead. None of us are. I am right here, very much alive. Feel the warmth of my hand on yours. And Jim is also alive. He is asleep in the chair in the corner. My darling, we are all blessed to be alive.”

“So many of them are dead. I can see them, right here,” he pointed to an empty space in the room. “I must be a penitent man. I fear I have done terrible things, but I cannot remember clearly. I am sure I saw you and James die. Was that part of my punishment?”

Cailin shook her head and could not stop the tears burning down her face. Whatever they had done to him was an abomination. She was so, bitterly, angry, but this was an enemy she could not fight. It was all inside Artemus’s head.

“No, my love,” she said in as light and hopeful a voice as she could muster. “You are not being punished. You have done nothing wrong. This is all a part of Trulane’s diabolical scheme. You must not believe any of it. Believe your heart…believe that I am here with you now…”

Jim had woken when the conversation started, but had respectfully, watched from the corner of the room. He himself had struggled to overcome the false memories implanted in his mind. He wondered if Grant had not persuaded him, maybe he would still believe them. Moreover, as difficult as it had been for him, he was exposed to only a fraction of the gas that Artie had inhaled.

Jim slowly got out of the chair, stretching his back, and joined Cailin at Artie’s bedside. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, lightly squeezing it. He hoped he conveyed his sympathy for her and his concern for Artie.

“Cailin, please give me a moment with him,” Jim said as he called Josh to help Cailin back to her room. Once she had gone, Jim sat on the edge of Artie’s bed, who was still awake, though his eyes were blank, lacking their usual lively twinkle.

“Artemus…it’s me, James.”

“James…”

“The nightmare is over. Trulane is in jail. Pitkane is dead.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“When I close my eyes, I see you…broken…bloody…I keep trying to save you, but I just can’t get there in time…I’m always too late…I keep failing you,” Artie grabbed Jim’s arm, unconvinced even then, that Jim was really there. “And Cailin, oh God, my sweet, smart, beautiful Cailin…if only I hadn’t been so selfish. If I hadn’t let her get involved…my love of her cost her life,” his voice drifted off.

“Artie, she’s not dead, and you never failed me. You’ve saved my life too many times to count. I have the best partner in the Service and more than my friend, you are like a brother to me.”

“Jim, I don’t know what is real anymore. I can’t stop these…visions…”

“This will pass, Artie,” Jim said with conviction, although he was hoping these words were true. “Just give it some time.”

“Time?”

“Yes, my friend, time to heal…time to live. You know, it isn’t often that you beat me to the prettiest girl in town, and now you completely ignore her,” Jim chided, hoping their usual banter would help.

“I…Cailin… He killed her, Jim. It was entirely my fault. I watched him kill her.”

“No, Artie, you saved her,” Jim gently corrected him. “She was wearing one of your ingenious bullet-resistant vests.”

Artie squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he looked over at Jim, trying to focus on his partner’s face.

“So was I, partner,” Jim said, poking his chest with his finger. “You saved both of us.”

Artie opened his mouth but was too confused to say anything. His eyes drooped and his head slumped down as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Jim wasn’t sure whether he had gotten through or not. It seemed like he was starting over, each time he had tried over the past few days. He was beginning to worry that Artie might not recover.


	24. Grant's Battles

Roy Oakley was not accustomed to having to jog to keep up with anyone. Anyone, except apparently, Ulysses S. Grant. He had met the President at the train station. In the coach ride to the hospital, he had briefed him as much as possible. Grant was a man of few words, except with his closest friends. He mostly listened to Roy’s account. Only asking a few questions, before he turned his gaze out the window, pensively.

“You know Roy, the last time I was in Jefferson City, was back in August of 1861. It was quite different back then.”

“Yes, sir, that was right at the start of the war. Things have changed quite a bit since then. It’s growing, faster than a spring colt, too,” said Roy. “Sir, Josh and I call this place home. We both fear that the damage Trulane caused may run deeper than we think.”

“I fear you are quite right, Roy,” said Grant, “I hope you boys will be successful in rooting out whatever remnants may have gone to ground.”

The coach stopped outside the hospital’s portico. Grant’s regular detachment of agents secured the entrance, then let Grant and Roy exit the coach. Grant resumed his brisk pace, as Roy pointed the way to Artie’s room. Roy held back when they reached the door, positioning himself in the hallway. Grant continued into the room, removing his hat. Jim stood up, snapping to attention, by habit.

“At ease, soldier,” said Grant as he met Jim West’s eyes. “Son, you indicated I would not see you again until this dreadful saga was done. I greet you now with my deepest thanks, for a job well done.”

Jim did not feel the job had been well done but accepted the President’s outstretched hand. “Sir, I’m not as pleased as you with the outcome, although I am satisfied to have Trulane behind bars, and Pitkane buried in the rubble. Unfortunately, many people have suffered because of them, and I’m afraid Artemus is still one of them.”

Jim motioned to the figure of his friend, still struggling to emerge from the false reality that had been implanted in his mind.

“Jim, I’d like a few minutes with Artemus, alone,” said Grant, solemnly studying the figure on the bed.

Jim nodded and excused himself from the room. Grant pulled a chair over next to Artie’s bed. He gently nudged him, and Artie struggled to wake up and focus his half-open eyes. Artie murmured and shook his head.

Grant tightened his grip on his agent’s shoulder. “Captain Gordon, “he spoke firmly, but not in anger, “I need your report.”

Artie’s eyes snapped fully open and blinked hard several times. “Sir, I… I’m sorry… my report?”

“Artemus, look at me,” said Grant.

Artie stilled and finally met Grant’s eyes. Surprise lit up his face as he recognized the man sitting next to him.

“President Grant, sir,” he said.

“Very good, Gordon. I’m pleased to hear that you know I am the President. Now, tell me what year is it?”

“Year? It’s…” he struggled for a moment, frustrated with himself for not being able to answer so simple a question, “I believe it is 1870?”

“That is correct. And though under normal circumstances, I would not have to clarify this, I want to make sure we both agree; the war ended five years ago,” Grant locked eyes with Artemus. He could see his agent turning these facts over in his head.

Artie gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. “Yes, though… sir, I don’t know how, but I seem to still be in that war. Every time I close my eyes…”

“Stay with me son now that we’ve established some parameters for the ‘here-and-now’. You seem trapped in a very distorted version of history. I’d like to review the real version of events with you. Are you up to it?”

Artemus Gordon was a man who relied on his intelligence, guile and quick wit to do his job. He found himself in a quandary, because he no longer trusted that those aspects of his person remained intact. The voices and images tormented him every time he closed his eyes. They played out a gruesome, debilitating version of his memories, twisting them into a new reality. He was an immensely private man, and he did not want to share these visions with anyone, however this request came from Ulysses S. Grant. Grant was and had been many things to Gordon: mentor, commanding officer, President and also, friend.

“Sir, I honestly don’t know if I am up to it. If any other man asked this of me…. But you are not any other man. I suppose you feel this is necessary?”

“Artemus,” said Grant, “I believe this is the only way to help you escape this living hell.”

“Alright, sir, let’s get it over with.”

Grant patted Artie’s shoulder. He shifted his gaze to the tree outside of the window and sat back in the chair.

“Jim and Roy filled me in a bit on what falsehoods Trulane and Pitkane fabricated. First off, Artemus, I want to tell you that there is no man alive right now, who better understands the burden you are now shouldering. For you, these are false memories, implanted in your brain. However, for me, the burden of sending tens of thousands of men to their deaths is a constant reality. Sherman had once remarked that, ‘War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it; the crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.’ He was right, but that does not lessen the burden of it.”

Artie looked over at Grant. It dawned on him that the nightmare he was now living was one that Grant had borne since the war. Grant rubbed his forehead and continued.

“From Shiloh to Vicksburg; from the Battle of the Wilderness to Spotsylvania; from Petersburg to Richmond; through the countless other skirmishes, battles, and sieges, I have personally ordered hundreds of thousands of men to their deaths. It was a war of attrition, Artemus. Lincoln and I both realized that the victor would be the one who could outlast the other, not whichever army won any particular battle.”

Artie could only nod in agreement. He had known this was the strategy during the war. He had, after all, helped implement it, but he had never fully understood the toll it must have taken on Grant and Lincoln to carry out this strategy for years on end, despite the mounting death toll. He now knew personally, what this crushing memory could do to a man.

“Son,” Grant said kindly, “I know you better than anyone, with the possible exception of James West. I know how you conducted yourself during the war. I know what you are capable of, both good and bad.”

“You always have seen into me,” said Artie, “I mean the real me, not the actor, not the man of a thousand disguises. There were times when I’ve thought you saw more than I even recognized in myself.”

“You are a special man, Artemus Gordon,” said Grant. He turned his attention from the tree outside to the man lying on the bed. “So is Jim. That is why I approached you after the war. It is why I entreated you to enter the Service, and why I felt it critical to pair the two of you together. I have only ever hated two classes of men - liars and cowards. You are the antithesis of both of those. The record of successes you and Jim have racked up, speaks for itself.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Artemus quietly, slightly embarrassed by the accolades. He closed his eyes. The visions returned. “I see my men,” he stated in a hollow, weak voice, that was completely uncharacteristic for him. “I see all of them, the ones I led into battle. They keep telling me it is my fault. They say they blame me. I keep thinking if I had done something differently, if I had been a better leader, maybe…” He trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

“You realize this is not the truth. Lies, Artemus that is all they are. You must discard them. I was there. You were a brilliant commander. Your company’s casualties were always among the lowest. You cannot incorporate these fallacious distortions into your reality,” said Grant forcefully.

“Even so,” said Artie, with a far-off look in his eyes, “there are things I did, things I know really happened, that I fear I caused, that I regret…”

Grant shrugged, commiserating with the sentiment. “I have always regretted the last assault at Cold Harbor. No advantage whatever was gained to compensate for the heavy loss we sustained. I might say the same of the assault at Vicksburg in ’63, or any number of others. In the heat of battle, we are bound to make mistakes. It doesn’t make it any easier, but we are only human. We will never be perfect.”

“Yes, but, when we lead others into battle,” mused Artie, “our mistakes are paid for in their blood.”

“Indeed, they are,” said Grant thoughtfully, “just acknowledging that makes you a better man than most. If we can live with the knowledge that our failures have been errors in judgement, not intent, then the burden is more bearable. And we fought and continue to fight on the side of righteousness. Your actions are not reprehensible. There are some that are tragic, no doubt. To not feel any regret, well, that’s what made Trulane the monster he became, isn’t it?”

Artemus nodded in agreement. He had never intended to cause suffering. His whole life, he fought those who did. Something inside of him shifted in that moment. He felt, in his heart, a firm conviction to continue that fight. This was his ethos. It was the man he had become. He saw his past, in its true form, and he was not repulsed by what he saw there. Whatever holds Pitkane’s torture had on him, lifted like a fog dissipating in a deep forest. The tendrils of lies separated from his real memories. He looked over at Grant and saw the greatness of his person, the decency of the man. He had always respected him, but the impact under these circumstances startled him.

With a twinkle in his eyes that had been missing for the last few days, Artie asked, “do you think you could get them to take off these restraints?”

“I believe that as the President of the United States, it is indeed within my purview to insist upon it!”

Grant shouted succinct orders to have the restraints removed and after the nurse had seen to it. He then motioned the incredibly happy and exuberant group of Jim, Josh, Roy and Cailin back into the room. The wheelchair was cumbersome. Cailin waved off Josh, and slowly stood and joined the men as they circled Artie’s bed.

Artie’s gaze moved between Jim and Cailin, now standing side-by-side. His best friend and a woman he was growing to care for very deeply. A smile brightened his exhausted features.

Cailin began the sing the lullaby. As she sang, she saw Artie settle his gaze, lovingly on her. He closed his eyes, and for the first time in days, he had no fear of what he would see there. That errant lock of hair had fallen across his forehead again, and Cailin reached up to brush it back. Her fingertips flittered along his hairline to his ear and down his chin. He sighed contentedly and a lopsided smile appeared, as he drifted off to a peaceful slumber.

“Slumber my darling, I will watch over thee,” said Cailin as she finished the song and softly kissed his lips.


	25. Epilogue

Dawn broke crisp and clear on Saturday morning. Artemus was going to be released today. He would be glad to get out of the hospital. His ribs were feeling much better and he was ready to get back to normal, or at least the normal of a Secret Service agent. He stood at the window of his room, looking out at the birds, busy about their business in the large oak tree. He was still wearing his hospital shirt and robe. They had to destroy his clothing from the night he was rescued. The chemicals Dr. Pitkane had exposed him to had saturated them. Jim and Cailin were bringing something from his wardrobe on the train. He cradled a cup of coffee, standing silently, ruminating on the events of the past few weeks, and even back further.

He was so deep in thought he did not hear Cailin as she came to his door. She stood there observing him pensively. She had deliberately worn the same cream and green lace dress he had described as ravishing. She silently entered the room and set his change of clothes on the bed. Then clearing her throat so as not to startle him, she joined him at the window. She stood behind him and caressed his broad shoulders. He relaxed into her touch.

“How are you feeling today, Artemus?” She asked quietly.

“Oh, all right, I suppose. Better, now that you are here.”

“You know, if you are feeling up to it, there is a social dance tonight at the courthouse,” she ventured, hoping to get him to accompany her. His mood had been contemplative. The effects of the gaseous torture still seemed to sap some of his spirit. But each day, he had improved a little bit. She hoped the dance might lighten his mood.

“Hmm, a dance you say?” He took another long sip of his coffee. “I’d think that someone as beautiful as you, would already have received many offers.”

“Oh, I have,” she said honestly, but with a lilt in her voice, “but I turned them all down. I’m very particular.” She moved her hand lower on his back.

He set his coffee on the window ledge, and turned to face her, smiling. He pulled her close to him, so that her head was resting on his chest. She wrapped her arms around him. When he spoke, it reverberated in a most pleasant manner.

“Well, if you insist,” he said coyly.

“Oh, I am most insistent Mr. Gordon,” she replied.

She looked up at him and saw the intense desire in his eyes. It took her breath away. He pulled her to him, starting with a gentle kiss, but building in an urgency borne of desire and need. He savored learning every inch of her soft, alluring lips. She traced her fingers around his ears, following his hairline. She loved the feel of the short-trimmed hair along the side and base of his neck. Her touch rippled through him. He slipped his tongue between her lips and she moaned. She felt the rough stubble of his unshaven face. The roughness contrasted with the softness of his kiss in a cascade of sensations. His hand moved onto the small of her back and drew her more closely to him. She could feel him grow stiff against her.

“Cailin Cassidy,” he said huskily, “I think I might be in love with you.”

“Artemus Gordon, that is a fortuitous coincidence, as I am quite certain that I am in love with you.” She stepped back from him, regretting the separation, but bowing to decorum, before things went beyond her ability to stop.

He smiled contentedly at her. He finally felt a sense of peace after so much anguish. He went over to the bed and unwrapped the bundle of clothes. She had brought his green suit. He had hoped that would be the one she would choose. He turned around to face her and bowed.

“Miss Cassidy, I would humbly request that you accompany me to the dance this evening,” he said formally, rising from his bow with a flourish of his hand.

“I accept your invitation, Mr. Gordon.”

That evening Cailin had changed into her ball gown, resplendent with green lace and velvet trim, matching Artie’s jacket. Roy had secured a carriage for them and the four couples arrived at the courthouse. As they entered the dance, the orchestra stopped mid-song, and the locals looked up at the new arrivals. They broke out into applause, as by then everyone had heard of the heroic actions that had rid the town and the nation of the horrible Dr. Pitkane, Trulane and his men. The mayor, who had been standing in an alcove with other city officials and the chaperones, approached them.

“Gentlemen, and ladies, welcome to the dance. We are grateful to you for all you have done to rid the world of such an evil group of villains. We’d like to clear the floor for you and offer a waltz that may capture the mood we all share tonight.” He called over to the orchestra leader.

“Please play “Live, Laugh and Love” by Josef Strauss for our esteemed guests,” he said.

The orchestra began to play. Jim and Clara, Roy and Eleanor and Josh and Annabelle, took to the floor and began to dance. Artie pulled Cailin over to the side and produced a beautiful corsage of honeysuckle blossoms for her. He gently pinned it on.

“A symbol of my devoted affection for you,” he said tilting his head to catch her eye.

She had to wait a moment to meet his gaze for fear she’d cry, though it would be with tears of joy. He took her in his arms and led her to join the other three couples. As they waltzed, she noted that he was an excellent dancer. They moved as one, gliding over the dance floor. The other couples moved to the perimeter, so Artie and Cailin would have the center of the floor to themselves. When she met his gaze, she saw a sparkle in his eyes that she had sorely missed.

“It seems we fit together quite well; would you agree Mr. Gordon?” She asked lovingly.

“Very well indeed, my darling. Very well, indeed.” Artemus murmured, gently tracing his hands along her back as he guided her in sweeps and turns.

Jim and Clara moved closer to Artie and Cailin. Jim met his partner’s smile.

“Artie, it’s good to see you, not just back to your old self, but so obviously happy. I have missed you my friend.” Jim said.

“Why, thank you James. I do believe that I may have recovered some of my joie de vivre thanks to Cailin and you.”

Jim nodded and swept Clara away across the floor.

Cailin lifted her sharp, green eyes and fixed her dance partner with a smoldering gaze. He held that gaze, which showed the depths of Cailin’s heart and just how much she cherished him. When she spoke, her voice was low and earnest.

“My dearest Artemus, I am possessed with the ardent wish that this will be the first of many waltzes I share with you.”

“I can assure you, it is my intent to do everything I can, to make that wish come true.”

FIN~~~

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. MUSIC: I've included a few references to some period music in this story. Here's the info if you want to listen along while you read:  
> a. "Slumber My Darling" by Stephen Collins Foster; from the collection: "Beautiful Dreamer: The Songs of Stephen Foster". Sung and played by: Alison Krauss, Yo Yo Ma, Edgar Meyer and Mark O'Conner. Proceeds will benefit American Roots Publishing, a nonprofit organization dedicated to preserving American regional culture through literature and the arts.  
> Lyrics: (Note: I imagine that Cailin Cassidy would substitute "angel" in place of "mother" in her version.)
> 
> Slumber, my darling, thy mother is near,  
> Guarding thy dreams from all terror and fear,  
> Sunlight has pass'd and the twilight has gone,  
> Slumber, my darling, the nights coming on.
> 
> Sweet visions attend thy sleep,  
> Fondest, dearest to me,  
> While others their revels keep,  
> I will watch over thee.
> 
> Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,  
> The wandering dews by the flow'rs are caressed,  
> Slumber, my darling, I'll keep thee up warm,  
> And pray that the angles will shield thee from harm.
> 
> Slumber, my darling, til' morn's blushing ray  
> Brings to the world the glad tidings of day;  
> Fill the dark void with thy dreamy delight--  
> Slumber, thy mother will guard thee tonight.
> 
> Thy pillow shall sacred be  
> From all outward alarms;  
> Thou, thou art the world to me  
> In thine innocent charms.
> 
> Slumber, my darling, the birds are at rest,  
> The wandering dews by the flow'rs are caressed,  
> Slumber, my darling, I'll keep thee up warm,  
> And pray that the angles will shield thee from harm.
> 
> b." Ashokan Farewell" by Jay Ungar & Molly Mason; from "Harvest Home: Music for All Seasons"  
> c. "Live, Laugh and Love" by Josef Strauss
> 
> 2\. HISTORY: I've tried to keep the history as accurate as possible in relation to the narrative. Here are some of the references I used:  
> a. http://www.nps.gov/frsp/wildspot.com (Spotsylvania History)  
> b. http://www.civilwarhome.com/spotsylvaniacourthouse.htm (Spotsylvania History)  
> c. http://www.empirenet.com/~ulysses/index.htm (Ulysses S. Grant speech & facts)  
> d. Ulysses S. Grant Memoirs Vol 1 & 2 (available on gutenberg.org and in print)  
> e. http://www.colecohistsoc.org/civilwar.html (Re. Jefferson City)  
> f. "Eyewitness to the Civil War" by Neil Kagan and Stephen G. Hyslop


End file.
